BOOKS  BY 
ARTHUR    B.  REEVE 


THE  TREASURE-TRAIN 
THE   SILENT  BULLET 
THE  POISONED  PEN 
THE  DREAM  DOCTOR 
GUY  GARRICK 
THE  EXPLOITS  OF  ELAINE 
THE  ROMANCE  OF  ELAINE 
CONSTANCE  DUNLAP 
THE  EAR  IN  THE  WALL 
THE  WAR  TERROR 
GOLD  OF  THE  GODS 
THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 
THE  ADVENTURESS 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS.   NEW  YORK 


•    :•* 


[See  p.  i 


'l    AM     NOT    BY    NATURE     A     SPY,     PROFESSOR     KENNEDY,     BUT — WELL, 
SOMETIMES   ONE   IS   FORCED    INTO   SOMETHING   LIKE   THAT  " 


THE 
TREASURE-TRAIN 

ARTHUR  BiREEVE 

FRONTISPIECE  BY 
WILL  POSTER 


HARPER  $  5ROTHER5-PU5LI5HER5 

ME\A/'  YORK1    AND    UOMDON 


THB  TREASURE  TRAIN 


Copyright,  1917.  by  Harper  &  Brothers 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  THE  TREASURE-TRAIN i 

II.  THE  TRUTH-DETECTOR 26 

III.  THE  SOUL-ANALYSIS 54 

IV.  THE  MYSTIC  POISONER 78 

V.  THE  PHANTOM  DESTROYER 104 

VI.  THE  BEAUTY  MASK 132 

VII.  THE  LOVE  METER 160 

VIII.  THE  VITAL  PRINCIPLE 187 

IX.  THE  RUBBER  DAGGER 217 

X.  THE  SUBMARINE  MINE 246 

XI.  THE  GUN-RUNNER 275 

XII.  THE  SUNKEN  TREASURE 305 


2064124 


THE    TREASURE-TRAIN 


THE    TREASURE -TRAIN 


THE     TREASURE-TRAIN 

"T  AM  not  by  nature  a  spy,  Professor  Kennedy, 

A  but — well,  sometimes  one  is  forced  into  some- 
thing like  that."  Maude  Euston,  who  had  sought 
out  Craig  in  his  laboratory,  was  a  striking  girl,  not 
merely  because  she  was  pretty  or  because  her  gown 
was  modish.  Perhaps  it  was  her  sincerity  and  art- 
lessness  that  made  her  attractive. 

She  was  the  daughter  of  Barry  Euston,  president 
of  the  Continental  Express  Company,  and  one  could 
readily  see  why,  aside  from  the  position  her  father 
held,  she  should  be  among  the  most-sought-after 
young  women  in  the  city. 

Miss  Euston  looked  straight  into  Kennedy's  eyes 
as  she  added,  without  waiting  for  him  to  ask  a 
question : 

"Yesterday  I  heard  something  that  has  made  me 
think  a  great  deal.  You  know,  we  live  at  the 
St.  Germaine  when  we  are  in  town.  I've  noticed 
for  several  months  past  that  the  lobbies  are  full 
of  strange,  foreign-looking  people. 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

"Well,  yesterday  afternoon  I  was  sitting  alone  in 
the  tea-room  of  the  hotel,  waiting  for  some  friends. 
On  the  other  side  of  a  huge  palm  I  heard  a  couple 
whispering.  I  have  seen  the  woman  about  the 
hotel  often,  though  I  know  that  she  doesn't  live 
there..  The  man  I  don't  remember  ever  having 
seen  before.  They  mentioned  the  name  of  Granville 
Barnes,  treasurer  of  father's  company — " 

"Is  that  so?"  cut  in  Kennedy,  quickly.  "I  read 
the  story  about  him  in  the  papers  this  morning." 

As  for  myself,  I  was  instantly  alive  with  interest, 
too. 

Granville  Barnes  had  been  suddenly  stricken  while 
riding  in  his  car  in  the  country,  and  the  report  had 
it  that  he  was  hovering  between  life  and  death  in  the 
General  Hospital.  The  chauffeur  had  been  stricken, 
too,  by  the  same  incomprehensible  malady,  though 
apparently  not  so  badly. 

How  the  chauffeur  managed  to  save  the  car  was  a 
miracle,  but  he  brought  it  to  a  stop  beside  the  road, 
where  the  two  were  found  gasping,  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  later,  by  a  passing  motorist,  who  rushed  them  to 
a  doctor,  who  had  them  transferred  to  the  hospital 
in  the  city.  Neither  of  them  seemed  able  or  willing 
to  throw  any  light  on  what  had  happened. 

"Just  what  was  it  you  overheard?"  encouraged 
Kennedy. 

"I  heard  the  man  tell  the  woman,"  Miss  Euston 
replied,  slowly, ' '  that  now  was  the  chance — when  any 
of  the  great  warring  powers  would  welcome  and 
wink  at  any  blow  that  might  cripple  the  other  to  the 
slightest  degree.  I  heard  him  say  something  about 
the  Continental  Express  Company,  and  that  was 


THE    TREASURE-TRAIN 

enough  to  make  me  listen,  for,  you  know,  father's 
company  is  handling  the  big  shipments  of  gold  and 
securities  that  are  coming  here  from  abroad  by  way 
of  Halifax.  Then  I  heard  her  mention  the  names 
of  Mr.  Barnes  and  of  Mr.  Lane,  too,  the  general 
manager."  She  paused,  as  though  not  relishing  the 
idea  of  having  the  names  bandied  about.  "Last 
night  the — the  attack  on  him — for  that  is  all  that 
I  can  think  it  was — occurred." 

As  she  stopped  again,  I  could  not  help  thinking 
what  a  tale  of  strange  plotting  the  casual  conversa- 
tion suggested.  New  York,  I  knew,  was  full  of 
high-class  international  crooks  and  flimflammers 
who  had  flocked  there  because  the  great  field  of 
their  operations  in  Europe  was  closed.  The  war 
had  literally  dumped  them  on  us.  Was  some  one 
using  a  band  of  these  crooks  for  ulterior  purposes? 
The  idea  opened  up  wide  possibilities. 

"Of  course,"  Miss  Euston  continued,  "that  is  all 
I  know;  but  I  think  I  am  justified  in  thinking  that 
the  two  things — the  shipment  of  gold  here  and  the 
attack — have  some  connection.  Oh,  can't  you  take 
up  the  case  and  look  into  it?" 

She  made  her  appeal  so  winsomely  that  it  would 
have  been  difficult  to  resist  even  if  it  had  not  prom- 
ised to  prove  important. 

"I  should  be  glad  to  take  up  the  matter,"  re- 
plied Craig,  quickly,  adding,  "if  Mr.  Barnes  will 
let  me." 

"Oh,  he  must!"  she  cried.  "I  haven't  spoken  to 
father,  but  I  know  that  he  would  approve  of  it.  I 
know  he  thinks  I  haven't  any  head  for  business,  just 
because  I  wasn't  born  a  boy.  I  want  to  prove  to 

I 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

him  that  I  can  protect  the  company's  interests. 
And  Mr.  Barnes— why,  of  course  he  will  approve." 

She  said  it  with  an  assurance  that  made  me 
wonder.  It  was  only  then  that  I  recollected  that  it 
had  been  one  of  the  excuses  for  printing  her  picture 
in  the  society  columns  of  the  Star  so  often  that  the 
pretty  daughter  of  the  president  of  the  Continental 
was  being  ardently  wooed  by  two  of  the  company's 
younger  officials.  Granville  Barnes  himself  was  one. 
The  other  was  Rodman  Lane,  the  young  general 
manager.  I  wished  now  that  I  had  paid  more  atten- 
tion to  the  society  news.  Perhaps  I  should  have 
been  in  a  better  position  to  judge  which  of  them  it 
was  whom  she  really  had  chosen.  As  it  was,  two 
questions  presented  themselves  to  me.  Was  it 
Barnes?  And  had  Barnes  really  been  the  victim  of 
an  attack — or  of  an  accident? 

Kennedy  may  have  been  thinking  the  problems 
over,  but  he  gave  no  evidence  of  it.  He  threw  on 
his  hat  and  coat,  and  was  ready  in  a  moment  to  be 
driven  in  Miss  Euston's  car  to  the  hospital. 

There,  after  the  usual  cutting  of  red  tape  which 
only  Miss  Euston  could  have  accomplished,  we  were 
led  by  a  white-uniformed  nurse  through  the  silent 
halls  to  the  private  room  occupied  by  Barnes. 

"It's  a  most  peculiar  case,"  whispered  the  young 
doctor  in  charge,  as  we  paused  at  the  door.  "I  want 
you  to  notice  his  face  and  his  cough.  His  pulse 
seems  very  weak,  almost  imperceptible  at  times.  The 
stethoscope  reveals  subcrepitant  sounds  all  over  his 
lungs.  It's  like  bronchitis  or  pneumonia — but  it 
isn't  either." 

We  entered.    Barnes  was  lying  there  almost  in 
4 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

a  state  of  unconsciousness.  As  we  stood  watching 
him,  he  opened  his  eyes.  But  he  did  not  see  us.  His 
vision  seemed  to  be  riveted  on  Miss  Euston.  He 
murmured  something  that  we  could  not  catch,  and, 
as  his  eyes  closed  again,  his  face  seemed  to  relax 
into  a  peaceful  expression,  as  though  he  were  dream- 
ing of  something  happy. 

Suddenly,  however,  the  old  tense  lines  reappeared. 
Another  idea  seemed  to  have  been  suggested. 

"Is — Lane — hiring  the  men — himself?"  he  mur- 
mured. 

The  sight  of  Maude  Euston  had  prompted  the 
thought  of  his  rival,  now  with  a  clear  field.  What 
did  it  mean?  Was  he  jealous  of  Lane,  or  did  his 
words  have  a  deeper  meaning?  What  difference 
could  it  have  made  if  Lane  had  a  free  hand  in 
managing  the  shipment  of  treasure  for  the  company? 

Kennedy  looked  long  and  carefully  at  the  face  of 
the  sick  man.  It  was  blue  and  cyanosed  still,  and 
his  lips  had  a  violet  tinge.  Barnes  had  been  cough- 
ing a  great  deal.  Now  and  then  his  mouth  was 
flecked  with  foamy  blood,  which  the  nurse  wiped 
gently  away.  Kennedy  picked  up  a  piece  of  the 
blood-soaked  gauze. 

A  moment  later  we  withdrew  from  the  room  as 
quietly  as  we  had  entered  and  tiptoed  down  the  hall, 
Miss  Euston  and  the  young  doctor  following  us 
more  slowly.  As  we  reached  the  door,  I  turned  to 
see  where  she  was.  A  distinguished-looking  elderly 
gentleman,  sitting  in  the  waiting-room,  had  hap- 
pened to  glance  up  as  she  passed  and  had  moved 
quickly  to  the  hall. 

"What — you  here,  Maude?"  we  heard  him  say. 
2  5 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

"Yes,  father.  I  thought  I  might  be  able  to  do 
something  for  Granville." 

She  accompanied  the  remark  with  a  sidelong  glance 
and  nod  at  us,  which  Kennedy  interpreted  to  mean 
that  we  might  as  well  keep  in  the  background. 
Euston  himself,  far  from  chiding  her,  seemed  rather 
to  be  pleased  than  otherwise.  We  could  not  hear 
all  they  said,  but  one  sentence  was  wafted  over. 

"It's  most  unfortunate,  Maude,  at  just  this  time. 
It  leaves  the  whole  matter  in  the  hands  of  Lane." 

At  the  mention  of  Lane,  which  her  father  accom- 
panied by  a  keen  glance,  she  flushed  a  little  and 
bit  her  lip.  I  wondered  whether  it  meant  more  than 
that,  of  the  two  suitors,  her  father  obviously  pre- 
ferred Barnes. 

Euston  had  called  to  see  Barnes,  and,  as  the  doctor 
led  him  up  the  hall  again,  Miss  Euston  rejoined  us. 

"You  need  not  drive  us  back,"  thanked  Kennedy. 
"Just  drop  us  at  the  Subway.  I'll  let  you  know  the 
moment  I  have  arrived  at  any  conclusion." 

On  the  train  we  happened  to  run  across  a  former 
classmate,  Morehead,  who  had  gone  into  the  broker- 
age business. 

"Queer  about  that  Barnes  case,  isn't  it?"  suggested 
Kennedy,  after  the  usual  greetings  were  over.  Then, 
without  suggesting  that  we  were  more  than  casually 
interested,  "What  does  the  Street  think  of  it?" 

"It  is  queer,"  rejoined  Morehead.  "All  the  boys 
down-town  are  talking  about  it — wondering  how  it 
will  affect  the  transit  of  the  gold  shipments.  I  don't 
know  what  would  happen  if  there  should  be  a  hitch. 
But  they  ought  to  be  able  to  run  the  thing  through 
all  right." 

6 


THE    TREASURE-TRAIN 

"It's  a  pretty  ticklish  piece  of  business,  then?" 
I  suggested. 

"Well,  you  know  the  state  of  the  market  just 
now — a  little  push  one  way  or  the  other  means  a  lot. 
And  I  suppose  you  know  that  the  insiders  on  the 
Street  have  boosted  Continental  Express  up  until 
it  is  practically  one  of  the  'war  stocks,'  too.  Well, 
good-by — here's  my  station." 

We  had  scarcely  returned  to  the  laboratory,  how- 
ever, when  a  car  drove  up  furiously  and  a  young 
man  bustled  in  to  see  us. 

"You  do  not  know  me,"  he  introduced,  "but  I 
am  Rodman  Lane,  general  manager  of  the  Conti- 
nental Express.  You  know  our  company  has  had 
charge  of  the  big  shipments  of  gold  and  securities 
to  New  York.  I  suppose  you've  read  about  what 
happened  to  Barnes,  our  treasurer.  I  don't  know 
anything  about  it — haven't  even  time  to  find  out. 
All  I  know  is  that  it  puts  more  work  on  me,  and  I'm 
nearly  crazy  already." 

I  watched  him  narrowly. 

"We've  had  little  trouble  of  any  kind  so  far,"  he 
hurried  on,  "until  just  now  I  learned  that  all  the 
roads  over  which  we  are  likely  to  send  the  shipments 
have  been  finding  many  more  broken  rails  than 
usual." 

Kennedy  had  been  following  him  keenly. 

"I  should  like  to  see  some  samples  of  them,"  he 
observed. 

"You  would?"  said  Lane,  eagerly.  "I've  a  couple 
of  sections  sawed  from  rails  down  at  my  office,  where 
I  asked  the  officials  to  send  them." 

7 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

We  made  a  hurried  trip  down  to  the  express  com- 
pany's office.  Kennedy  examined  the  sections  of 
rails  minutely  with  a  strong  pocket-lens. 

"No  ordinary  break,"  he  commented.  "You  can 
see  that  it  was  an  explosive  that  was  used— an  ex- 
plosive well  and  properly  tamped  down  with  wet 
clay.  Without  tamping,  the  rails  would  have  been 
bent,  not  broken." 

"Done  by  wreckers,  then?"  Lane  asked. 

"Certainly  not  defective  rails,"  replied  Kennedy. 
"Still,  I  don't  think  you  need  worry  so  much  about 
them  for  the  next  train.  You  know  what  to  guard 
against.  Having  been  discovered,  whoever  they 
are,  they'll  probably  not  try  it  again.  It's  some  new 
wrinkle  that  must  be  guarded  against." 

It  was  small  comfort,  but  Craig  was  accustomed 
to  being  brutally  frank. 

"Have  you  taken  any  other  precautions  now  that 
you  didn't  take  before?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Lane,  slowly;  "the  railroad  has 
been  experimenting  with  wireless  on  its  trains.  We 
have  placed  wireless  on  ours,  too.  They  can't  cut 
us  off  by  cutting  wires.  Then,  of  course,  as  before, 
we  shall  use  a  pilot-train  to  run  ahead  and  a  strong 
guard  on  the  train  itself.  But  now  I  feel  that  there 
may  be  something  else  that  we  can  do.  So  I  have 
come  to  you." 

"When  does  the  next  shipment  start?"  asked 
Kennedy. 

"To-morrow,  from  Halifax." 

Kennedy  appeared  to  be  considering  something. 

"The  trouble,"  he  said,  at  length,  "is  likely  to  be 
at  this  end.  Perhaps  before  the  train  starts  some- 

8 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

thing  may  happen  that  will  tell  us  just  what  addi- 
tional measures  to  take  as  it  approaches  New  York." 

While  Kennedy  was  at  work  with  the  blood-soaked 
gauze  that  he  had  taken  from  Barnes,  I  could  do 
nothing  but  try  to  place  the  relative  positions  of  the 
various  actors  in  the  little  drama  that  was  unfolding. 
Lane  himself  puzzled  me.  Sometimes  I  felt  almost 
sure  that  he  knew  that  Miss  Euston  had  come  to 
Kennedy,  and  that  he  was  trying,  in  this  way, 
to  keep  in  touch  with  what  was  being  done  for 
Barnes. 

Some  things  I  knew  already.  Barnes  was  com- 
paratively wealthy,  and  had  evidently  the  stamp  of 
approval  of  Maude  Euston's  father.  As  for  Lane, 
he  was  far  from  wealthy,  although  ambitious. 

The  company  was  in  a  delicate  situation  where  an 
act  of  omission  would  count  for  as  much  as  an  act  of 
commission.  Whoever  could  foresee  what  was  going 
to  happen  might  capitalize  that  information  for 
much  money.  If  there  was  a  plot  and  Barnes  had 
been  a  victim,  what  was  its  nature?  I  recalled  Miss 
Euston's  overheard  conversation  in  the  tea-room. 
Both  names  had  been  mentioned.  In  short,  I  soon 
found  myself  wondering  whether  some  one  might  not 
have  tempted  Lane  either  to  do  or  not  to  do  some- 
thing. 

"I  wish  you'd  go  over  to  the  St.  Germaine, 
Walter,"  remarked  Kennedy,  at  length,  looking  up 
from  his  work.  "Don't  tell  Miss  Euston  of  Lane's 
visit.  But  ask  her  if  she  will  keep  an  eye  out  for 
that  woman  she  heard  talking — and  the  man,  too. 
They  may  drop  in  again.  And  tell  her  that  if  she 

9 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

hears  anything  else,  no  matter  how  trivial,  about 
Barnes,  she  must  let  me  know." 

I  was  glad  of  the  commission.  Not  only  had  I 
been  unable  to  arrive  anywhere  in  my  conjectures, 
but  it  was  something  even  to  have  a  chance  to  talk 
with  a  girl  like  Maude  Euston. 

Fortunately  I  found  her  at  home  and,  though  she 
was  rather  disappointed  that  I  had  nothing  to 
report,  she  received  me  graciously,  and  we  spent  the 
rest  of  the  evening  watching  the  varied  life  of  the 
fashionable  hostelry  in  the  hope  of  chancing  on  the 
holders  of  the  strange  conversation  in  the  tea-room. 

Once  in  a  while  an  idea  would  occur  to  her  of  some 
one  who  was  in  a  position  to  keep  her  informed  if 
anything  further  happened  to  Barnes,  and  she  would 
despatch  a  messenger  with  a  little  note.  Finally,  as 
it  grew  late  and  the  adventuress  of  the  tea-room 
episode  seemed  unlikely  to  favor  the  St.  Germaine 
with  her  presence  again  that  night,  I  made  my 
excuses,  having  had  the  satisfaction  only  of  having 
delivered  Kennedy's  message,  without  accomplishing 
anything  more.  In  fact,  I  was  still  unable  to  deter- 
mine whether  there  was  any  sentiment  stronger 
than  sympathy  that  prompted  her  to  come  to 
Kennedy  about  Barnes.  As  for  Lane,  his  name  was 
scarcely  mentioned  except  when  it  was  necessary. 

It  was  early  the  next  morning  that  I  rejoined 
Craig  at  the  laboratory.  I  found  him  studying  the 
solution  which  he  had  extracted  from  the  blood- 
soaked  gauze  after  first  removing  the  blood  in  a  little 
distilled  water. 

Before  him  was  his  new  spectroscope,  and  I  could 
see  that  now  he  was  satisfied  with  what  the  uncannily 

10 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

delicate  light-detective  had  told  him.  He  pricked 
his  finger  and  let  a  drop  of  blood  fall  into  a  little 
fresh  distilled  water,  some  of  which  he  placed  in  the 
spectroscope. 

"Look  through  it,"  he  said.  "Blood  diluted  with 
water  shows  the  well-known  dark  bands  between 
D  and  E,  known  as  the  oxyhemoglobin  absorption." 
I  looked  as  he  indicated  and  saw  the  dark  bands. 
"Now,"  he  went  on,  "I  add  some  of  this  other 
liquid." 

He  picked  up  a  bottle  of  something  with  a  faint 
greenish  tinge. 

"See  the  bands  gradually  fade?" 

I  watched,  and  indeed  they  did  diminish  in  inten- 
sity and  finally  disappear,  leaving  an  uninterrupted 
and  brilliant  spectrum. 

"My  spectroscope,"  he  said,  simply,  "shows  that 
the  blood-crystals  of  Barnes  are  colorless.  Barnes 
was  poisoned — by  some  gas,  I  think.  I  wish  I  had 
time  to  hunt  along  the  road  where  the  accident  took 
place. "  As  he  said  it,  he  walked  over  and  drew  from  a 
cabinet  several  peculiar  arrangements  made  of  gauze. 

He  was  about  to  say  something  more  when  there 
came  a  knock  at  the  door.  Kennedy  shoved  the 
gauze  arrangements  into  his  pocket  and  opened  it. 
It  was  Maude  Euston,  breathless  and  agitated. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Kennedy,  have  you  heard?"  she  cried. 
"You  asked  me  to  keep  a  watch  whether  anything 
more  happened  to  Mr.  Barnes.  So  I  asked  some 
friends  of  his  to  let  me  know  of  anything.  He  has 
a  yacht,  the  Sea  Gull,  which  has  been  lying  off  City 
Island.  Well,  last  night  the  captain  received  a 
message  to  go  to  the  hospital,  that  Mr.  Barnes 

ii 


THE  TREASURE-TRAIN 

wanted  to  see  him.  Of  course  it  was  a  fake.  Mr. 
Barnes  was  too  sick  to  see  anybody  on  business. 
But  when  the  captain  got  back,  he  found  that,  on 
one  pretext  or  another,  the  crew  had  been  got 
ashore — and  the  Sea  Gull  is  gone — stolen!  Some 
men  in  a  small  boat  must  have  overpowered  the 
engineer.  Anyhow,  she  has  disappeared.  I  know 
that  no  one  could  expect  to  steal  a  yacht — at  least 
for  very  long.  She'd  be  recognized  soon.  But  they 
must  know  that,  too." 

Kennedy  looked  at  his  watch. 

"It  is  only  a  few  hours  since  the  train  started 
from  Halifax,"  he  considered.  "It  will  be  due  in 
New  York  early  to-morrow  morning — twenty  mill- 
ion dollars  in  gold  and  thirty  millions  in  securities — 
a  seven-car  steel  train,  with  forty  armed  guards!" 

"I  know  it,"  she  said,  anxiously,  "and  I  am  so 
afraid  something  is  going  to  happen — ever  since  I 
had  to  play  the  spy.  But  what  could  any  one  want 
with  a  yacht?" 

Kennedy  shrugged  his  shoulders  non-committally. 

"It  is  one  of  the  things  that  Mr.  Lane  must 
guard  against,"  he  remarked,  simply.  She  looked  up 
quickly. 

"Mr.  Lane?"  she  repeated. 

''Yes,"  replied  Kennedy;  "the  protection  of  the 
train  has  fallen  on  him.  I  shall  meet  the  train  myself 
when  it  gets  to  Worcester  and  come  in  on  it.  I 
don't  think  there  can  be  any  danger  before  it  reaches 
that  point." 

"Will  Mr.  Lane  go  with  you?" 

"He  must,"  decided  Kennedy.  "That  train  must 
be  delivered  safely  here  in  this  city." 

12 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

Maude  Euston  gave  Craig  one  of  her  penetrating, 
direct  looks. 

"You  think  there  is  danger,  then?" 

"I  cannot  say,"  he  replied. 

"Then  I  am  going  with  you!"  she  exclaimed. 

Kennedy  paused  and  met  her  eyes.  I  do  not  know 
whether  he  read  what  was  back  of  her  sudden  de- 
cision. At  least  I  could  not,  unless  there  was  some- 
thing about  Rodman  Lane  which  she  wished  to  have 
cleared  up.  Kennedy  seemed  to  read  her  character 
and  know  that  a  girl  like  Maude  Euston  would  be  a 
help  in  any  emergency. 

"Very  well,"  he  agreed;  "meet  us  at  Mr.  Lane's 
office  in  half  an  hour.  Walter,  see  whether  you  can 
find  Whiting." 

Whiting  was  one  of  Kennedy's  students  with  whom 
he  had  been  lately  conducting  some  experiments. 
I  hurried  out  and  managed  to  locate  him. 

"What  is  it  you  suspect?"  I  asked,  when  we  re- 
turned. "A  wreck — some  spectacular  stroke  at  the 
nations  that  are  shipping  the  gold?" 

"Perhaps,"  he  replied,  absently,  as  he  and  Whiting 
hurriedly  assembled  some  parts  of  instruments  that 
were  on  a  table  in  an  adjoining  room. 

"Perhaps?"  I  repeated.  "What  else  might  there 
be?" 

"Robbery." 

"Robbery!"  I  exclaimed.  "Of  twenty  million 
dollars?  Why,  man,  just  consider  the  mere  weight 
of  the  metal!" 

"That's  all  very  well,"  he  replied,  warming  up  a 
bit  as  he  saw  that  Whiting  was  getting  things 
together  quickly.  "But  it  needs  only  a  bit  of  twenty 

13 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

millions  to  make  a  snug  fortune — "  He  paused  and 
straightened  up  as  the  gathering  of  the  peculiar 
electrical  apparatus,  whatever  it  was,  was  completed. 
"And,"  he  went  on  quickly,  "consider  the  effect  on 
the  stock-market  of  the  news.  That's  the  big  thing. ' ' 

I  could  only  gasp. 

"A  modern  train-robbery,  planned  in  the  heart  of 
dense  traffic!" 

"Why  not?"  he  queried.  "Nothing  is  impossible 
if  you  can  only  take  the  other  fellow  unawares.  Our 
job  is  not  to  be  taken  unawares.  Are  you  ready, 
Whiting?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  student,  shouldering  the 
apparatus,  for  which  I  was  very  thankful,  for  my 
arms  had  frequently  ached  carrying  about  some  of 
Kennedy's  weird  but  often  weighty  apparatus. 

We  piled  into  a  taxicab  and  made  a  quick  journey 
to  the  office  of  the  Continental  Express.  Maude 
Euston  had  already  preceded  us,  and  we  found  her 
standing  by  Lane's  desk  as  he  paced  the  floor. 

"Please,  Miss  Euston,  don't  go,"  he  was  saying 
as  we  entered. 

"But  I  want  to  go,"  she  persisted,  more  than  ever 
determined,  apparently. 

"I  have  engaged  Professor  Kennedy  just  for  the 
purpose  of  foreseeing  what  new  attack  can  be  made 
on  us,"  he  said. 

"You  have  engaged  Professor  Kennedy?"  she 
asked.  "I  think  I  have  a  prior  claim  there,  haven't 
I?"  she  appealed. 

Kennedy  stood  for  a  moment  looking  from  one 
to  the  other.  What  was  there  in  the  motives  that 
actuated  them?  Was  it  fear,  hate,  love,  jealousy? 

14 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

"I  can  serve  my  two  clients  only  if  they  yield  to 
me,"  Craig  remarked,  quietly.  "Don't  set  that 
down,  Whiting.  Which  is  it — yes  or  no?" 

Neither  Lane  nor  Miss  Euston  looked  at  each 
other  for  a  moment. 

"Is  it  in  my  hands?"  repeated  Craig. 

"Yes,"  bit  off  Lane,  sourly. 

"And  you,  Miss  Euston?" 

"Of  course,"  she  answered. 

"Then  we  all  go,"  decided  Craig.  "Lane,  may 
I  install  this  thing  in  your  telegraph-room  out- 
side?" 

"Anything  you  say,"  Lane  returned,  unmollified. 

Whiting  set  to  work  immediately,  while  Kennedy 
gave  him  the  final  instructions. 

Neither  Lane  nor  Miss  Euston  spoke  a  word,  even 
when  I  left  the  room  for  a  moment,  fearing  that 
three  was  a  crowd.  I  could  not  help  wondering 
whether  she  might  not  have  heard  something  more 
from  the  woman  in  the  tea-room  conversation  than 
she  had  told  us.  If  she  had,  she  had  been  more 
frank  with  Lane  than  with  us.  She  must  have  told 
him.  Certainly  she  had  not  told  us.  It  was  the  only 
way  I  could  account  for  the  armed  truce  that  seemed 
to  exist  as,  hour  after  hour,  our  train  carried  us 
nearer  the  point  where  we  were  to  meet  the  treasure- 
train. 

At  Worcester  we  had  still  a  long  wait  for  the 
argosy  that  was  causing  so  much  anxiety  and  danger. 
It  was  long  after  the  time  scheduled  that  we  left 
finally,  on  our  return  journey,  late  at  night. 

Ahead  of  us  went  a  dummy  pilot-train  to  be 
sacrificed  if  any  bridges  or  trestles  were  blown  up 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

or  if  any  new  attempts  were  made  at  producing 
artificially  broken  rails.  We  four  established  our- 
selves as  best  we  could  in  a  car  in  the  center  of  the 
treasure-train,  with  one  of  the  armed  guards  as 
company.  Mile  after  mile  we  reeled  off,  ever  south- 
ward and  westward. 

We  must  have  crossed  the  State  of  Connecticut 
and  have  been  approaching  Long  Island  Sound, 
when  suddenly  the  train  stopped  with  a  jerk.  Or- 
dinarily there  is  nothing  to  grow  alarmed  about  at 
the  mere  stopping  of  a  train.  But  this  was  an  un- 
usual train  under  unusual  circumstances. 

No  one  said  a  word  as  we  peered  out.  Down  the 
track  the  signals  seemed  to  show  a  clear  road.  What 
was  the  matter? 

"Look!"  exclaimed  Kennedy,  suddenly. 

Off  a  distance  ahead  I  could  see  what  looked  like 
a  long  row  of  white  fuses  sticking  up  in  the  faint 
starlight.  From  them  the  fresh  west  wind  seemed 
to  blow  a  thick  curtain  of  greenish-yellow  smoke 
which  swept  across  the  track,  enveloping  the  engine 
and  the  forward  cars  and  now  advancing  toward  us 
like  the  "yellow  wind"  of  northern  China.  It 
seemed  to  spread  thickly  on  the  ground,  rising 
scarcely  more  than  sixteen  or  eighteen  feet. 

A  moment  and  the  cloud  began  to  fill  the  air 
about  us.  There  was  a  paralyzing  odor.  I  looked 
about  at  the  others,  gasping  and  coughing.  As  the 
cloud  rolled  on,  inexorably  increasing  in  density, 
it  seemed  literally  to  grip  the  lungs. 

It  flashed  over  me  that  already  the  engineer  and 
fireman  had  been  overcome,  though  not  before  the 
engineer  had  been  able  to  stop  the  train. 

•T6 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

As  the  cloud  advanced,  the  armed  guards  ran  from 
it,  shouting,  one  now  and  then  falling,  overcome. 
For  the  moment  none  of  us  knew  what  to  do. 
Should  we  run  and  desert  the  train  for  which  we  had 
dared  so  much  ?  To  stay  was  death. 

Quickly  Kennedy  pulled  from  his  pocket  the  gauze 
arrangements  he  had  had  in  his  hand  that  morning 
just  as  Miss  Euston's  knock  had  interrupted  his 
conversation  with  me.  Hurriedly  he  shoved  one 
into  Miss  Euston's  hands,  then  to  Lane,  then  to 
me,  and  to  the  guard  who  was  with  us.  * 

"Wet  them!"  he  cried,  as  he  fitted  his  own  over 
his  nose  and  staggered  to  a  water-cooler. 

"What  is  it?"  I  gasped,  hoarsely,  as  we  all  imi- 
tated his  every  action. 

"Chlorin  gas,"  he  rasped  back,  "the  same  gas 
that  overcame  Granville  Barnes.  These  masks  are 
impregnated  with  a  glycerin  solution  of  sodium 
phosphate.  It  was  chlorin  that  destroyed  the  red 
coloring  matter  in  Barnes's  blood.  No  wonder, 
when  this  action  of  just  a  whiff  of  it  on  us  is  so 
rapid.  Even  a  short  time  longer  and  death  would 
follow.  It  destroys  without  the  possibility  of  recon- 
stitution,  and  it  leaves  a  dangerous  deposit  of  al- 
bumin. How  do  you  feel?" 

"All  right,"  I  lied. 

We  looked  out  again.  The  things  that  looked  like 
fuses  were  not  bombs,  as  I  had  expected,  but  big 
reinforced  bottles  of  gas  compressed  at  high  pressure, 
with  the  taps  open.  The  supply  was  not  inexhaust- 
ible. In  fact,  it  was  decidedly  limited.  But  it 
seemed  to  have  been  calculated  to  a  nicety  to  do  the 
work.  Only  the  panting  of  the  locomotive  now 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

broke  the  stillness  as  Kennedy  and  I  moved  forward 
along  the  track. 

Crack!  rang  out  a  shot. 

"Get  on  the  other  side  of  the  train — quick!" 
ordered  Craig. 

In  the  shadow,  aside  from  the  direction  in  which 
the  wind  was  wafting  the  gas,  we  could  now  just 
barely  discern  a  heavy  but  powerful  motor-truck  and 
figures  moving  about  it.  As  I  peered  out  from  the 
shelter  of  the  train,  I  realized  what  it  ah1  meant. 
The  truck,  which  had  probably  conveyed  the  gas- 
tanks  from  the  rendezvous  where  they  had  been 
collected,  was  there  now  to  convey  to  some  dark 
wharf  what  of  the  treasure  could  be  seized.  There 
the  stolen  yacht  was  waiting  to  carry  it  off. 

"Don't  move — don't  fire,"  cautioned  Kennedy. 
"Perhaps  they  will  think  it  was  only  a  shadow  they 
saw.  Let  them  act  first.  They  must.  They  haven't 
any  too  much  time.  Let  them  get  impatient." 

For  some  minutes  we  waited. 

Sure  enough,  separated  widely,  but  converging 
toward  the  treasure-train  at  last,  we  could  see  several 
dark  figures  making  their  way  from  the  road  across 
a  strip  of  field  and  over  the  rails.  I  made  a  move 
with  my  gun. 

"Don't,"  whispered  Kennedy.  "Let  them  get 
together." 

His  ruse  was  clever.  Evidently  they  thought  that 
it  had  been  indeed  a  wraith  at  which  they  had  fired. 
Swiftly  now  they  hurried  to  the  nearest  of  the  gold- 
laden  cars.  We  could  hear  them  breaking  in  where 
the  guards  had  either  been  rendered  unconscious  or 
had  fled. 

18 


THE    TREASURE-TRAIN 

I  looked  around  at  Maude  Euston.  She  was  the 
calmest  of  us  all  as  she  whispered: 

"They  are  in  the  car.    Can't  we  do  something?" 

"Lane,"  whispered  Kennedy,  "crawl  through 
under  the  trucks  with  me.  Walter,  and  you,  Dugan," 
he  added,  to  the  guard,  "go  down  the  other  side. 
We  must  rush  them — in  the  car." 

As  Kennedy  crawled  under  the  train  again  I  saw 
Maude  Euston  follow  Lane  closely. 

How  it  happened  I  cannot  describe,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  I  don't  remember.  I  know  that  it  was 
a  short,  sharp  dash,  that  the  fight  was  a  fight  of 
fists  in  which  guns  were  discharged  wildly  in  the  air 
against  the  will  of  the  gunner.  But  from  the  mo- 
ment when  Kennedy's  voice  rang  out  in  the  door, 
"Hands  up!"  to  the  time  that  I  saw  that  we  had  the 
robbers  lined  up  with  their  backs  against  the  heavy 
cases  of  the  precious  metal  for  which  they  had 
planned  and  risked  so  much,  it  is  a  blank  of  grim 
death-struggle. 

I  remember  my  surprise  at  seeing  one  of  them  a 
woman,  and  I  thought  I  must  be  mistaken.  I  looked 
about.  No;  there  was  Maude  Euston  standing  just 
beside  Lane. 

I  think  it  must  have  been  that  which  recalled  me 
and  made  me  realize  that  it  was  a  reality  and  not  a 
dream.  The  two  women  stood  glaring  at  each  other. 

"The  woman  in  the  tea-room!"  exclaimed  Miss 
Euston.  "It  was  about  this — robbery — then,  that  I 
heard  you  talking  the  other  afternoon." 

I  looked  at  the  face  before  me.  It  was,  had  been, 
a  handsome  face.  But  now  it  was  cold  and  hard, 
with  that  heartless  expression  of  the  adventuress, 

19 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

The  men  seemed  to  take  their  plight  hard.  But,  as 
she  looked  into  the  clear,  gray  eyes  of  the  other 
woman,  the  adventuress  seemed  to  gain  rather  than 
lose  in  defiance. 

"Robbery?"  she  repeated,  bitterly.  "This  is 
only  a  beginning." 

;"A  beginning.     What  do  you  mean?" 
.  It  was  Lane  who  spoke.    Slowly  she  turned  toward 
him. 

"You  know  well  enough  what  I  mean." 

The  implication  that  she  intended  was  clear.  She 
had  addressed  the  remark  to  him,  but  it  was  a  stab 
at  Maude  Euston. 

"I  know  only  what  you  wanted  me  to  do — and  I 
refused.  Is  there  more  still?" 

I  wondered  whether  Lane  could  really  have  been 
involved. 

* '  Quick — what  do  you  mean  ?"  demanded  Kennedy, 
authoritatively. 

The  woman  turned  to  him: 

"Suppose  this  news  of  the  robbery  is  out?  What 
will  happen?  Do  you  want  me  to  tell  you,  young 
lady?"  she  added,  turning  again  to  Maude  Euston. 
"I'll  tell  you.  The  stock  of  the  Continental  Express 
Company  will  fall  like  a  house  of  cards.  And  then? 
Those  who  have  sold  it  at  the  top  price  will  buy  it 
back  again  at  the  bottom.  The  company  is  sound. 
The  depression  will  not  last — perhaps  will  be  over 
in  a  day,  a  week,  a  month.  Then  the  operators  can 
send  it  up  again.  Don't  you  see?  It  is  the  old 
method  of  manipulation  in  a  new  form.  It  is  a 
war-stock  gamble.  Other  stocks  will  be  affected  the 
same  way.  This  is  our  reward — what  we  can  get 

20 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

out  of  it  by  playing  this  game  for  which  the  materials 
are  furnished  free.  We  have  played  it — and  lost. 
The  manipulators  will  get  their  reward  on  the  stock- 
market  this  morning.  But  they  must  still  reckon 
with  us — even  if  we  have  lost."  She  said  it  with  a 
sort  of  grim  humor. 

"And  you  have  put  Granville  Barnes  out  of  the 
way,  first?"  I  asked,  remembering  the  chlorin.  She 
laughed  shrilly. 

"That  was  an  accident — his  own  carelessness. 
He  was  carrying  a  tank  of  it  for  us.  Only  his  chauf- 
feur's presence  of  mind  in  throwing  it  into  the  shrub- 
bery by  the  road  saved  his  life  and  reputation.  No, 
young  man;  he  was  one  of  the  manipulators,  too. 
But  the  chief  of  them  was — "  She  paused  as  if  to 
enjoy  one  brief  moment  of  triumph  at  least.  "The 
president  of  the  company,"  she  added. 

"No,  no,  no!"  cried  Maude  Euston. 

"Yes,  yes,  yes!  He  does  not  dare  deny  it.  They 
were  all  in  it." 

"Mrs.  Labret — you  lie!"  towered  Lane,  in  a  surg- 
ing passion,  as  he  stepped  forward  and  shook  his 
finger  at  her.  "You  lie  and  you  know  it.  There  is 
an  old  saying  about  the  fury  of  a  woman  scorned." 
She  paid  no  attention  to  him  whatever. 

"Maude  Euston,"  she  hissed,  as  though  Lane  had 
been  as  inarticulate  as  the  boxes  of  gold  about, 
"you  have  saved  your  lover's  reputation — perhaps. 
At  least  the  shipment  is  safe.  But  you  have  ruined 
your  father.  The  deal  will  go  through.  Already 
that  has  been  arranged.  You  may  as  well  tell 
Kennedy  to  let  us  go  and  let  the  thing  go  through. 
It  involves  more  than  us." 
3  21 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

Kennedy  had  been  standing  back  a  bit,  carefully 
keeping  them  all  covered.  He  glanced  a  moment 
out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  at  Maude  Euston,  but 
said  nothing. 

It  was  a  terrible  situation.  Had  Lane  really  been 
in  it?  That  question  was  overshadowed  by  the 
mention  of  her  father.  Impulsively  she  turned  to 

Craig. 

"Oh,  save  him!"  she  cried.  "Can't  anything  be 
done  to  save  my  father  in  spite  of  himself?" 

"It  is  too  late,"  mocked  Mrs.  Labret.  "People 
will  read  the  account  of  the  robbery  in  the  papers, 
even  if  it  didn't  take  place.  They  will  see  it  before 
they  see  a  denial.  Orders  will  flood  in  to  sell  the 
stock.  No;  it  can't  be  stopped." 

Kennedy  glanced  momentarily  at  me. 

"Is  there  still  time  to  catch  the  last  morning  edi- 
tion of  the  Star,  Walter?"  he  asked,  quietly.  I 
glanced  at  my  watch. 

"We  may  try.    It's  possible." 

"Write  a  despatch — an  accident  to  the  engine — 
train  delayed — now  proceeding — anything.  Here, 
Dugan,  you  keep  them  covered.  Shoot  to  kill  if 
there's  a  move." 

Kennedy  had  begun  feverishly  setting  up  the  part 
of  the  apparatus  which  he  had  brought  after  Whiting 
had  set  up  his. 

"What  can  you  do?"  hissed  Mrs.  Labret.  "You 
can't  get  word  through.  Orders  have  been  issued 
that  the  telegraph  operators  are  under  no  circum- 
stances to  give  out  news  about  this  train.  The  wire- 
less is  out  of  commission,  too — the  operator  over- 
come. The  robbery  story  has  been  prepared  and 

22 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

given  out  by  this  time.    Already  reporters  are  being 
assigned  to  follow  it  up." 

I  looked  over  at  Kennedy.  If  orders  had  been 
given  for  such  secrecy  by  Barry  Euston,  how  could 
my  despatch  do  any  good?  It  would  be  held  back 
by  the  operators. 

Craig  quickly  slung  a  wire  over  those  by  the  side 
of  the  track  and  seized  what  I  had  written,  sending 
furiously. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  I  asked.  "You  heard 
what  she  said." 

"One  thing  you  can  be  certain  of,"  he  answered, 
"that  despatch  can  never  be  stolen  or  tapped  by 
spies." 

"Why — what  is  this?"  I  asked,  pointing  to  the 
instrument. 

"The  invention  of  Major  Squier,  of  the  army," 
he  replied,  "by  which  any  number  of  messages  may 
be  sent  at  the  same  time  over  the  same  wire  without 
the  slightest  conflict.  Really  it  consists  in  making 
wireless  electric  waves  travel  along,  instead  of  in- 
side, the  wire.  In  other  words,  he  had  discovered  the 
means  of  concentrating  the  energy  of  a  wireless  wave 
on  a  given  point  instead  of  letting  it  riot  all  over  the 
face  of  the  earth. 

"It  is  the  principle  of  wireless.  But  in  ordinary 
wireless  less  than  one-millionth  part  of  the  original 
sending  force  reaches  the  point  for  which  it  is  in- 
tended. The  rest  is  scattered  through  space  in  all 
directions.  If  the  vibrations  of  a  current  are  of  a 
certain  number  per  second,  the  current  will  follow 
a  wire  to  which  it  is,  as  it  were,  attached,  instead  of 
passing  off  into  space. 

23 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

"All  the  energy  in  wireless  formerly  wasted  in 
radiation  in  every  direction  now  devotes  itself  solely 
to  driving  the  current  through  the  ether  about  the 
wire.  Thus  it  goes  until  it  reaches  the  point  where 
Whiting  is — where  the  vibrations  correspond  to  its 
own  and  are  in  tune.  There  it  reproduces  the  send- 
ing impulse.  It  is  wired  wireless." 

Craig  had  long  since  finished  sending  his  wired 
wireless  message.  We  waited  impatiently.  The 
seconds  seemed  to  drag  like  hours. 

Far  off,  now,  we  could  hear  a  whistle  as  a  train 
finally  approached  slowly  into  our  block,  creeping 
up  to  see  what  was  wrong.  But  that  made  no 
difference  now.  It  was  not  any  help  they  could  give 
us  that  we  wanted.  A  greater  problem,  the  saving 
of  one  man's  name  and  the  re-establishment  of 
another,  confronted  us. 

Unexpectedly  the  little  wired  wireless  instrument 
before  us  began  to  buzz.  Quickly  Kennedy  seized  a 
pencil  and  wrote  as  the  message  that  no  hand  of 
man  could  interfere  with  was  flashed  back  to  us. 

"It  is  for  you,  Walter,  from  the  Star,''  he  said, 
simply  handing  me  what  he  had  written  on  the  back 
of  an  old  envelope. 

I  read,  almost  afraid  to  read: 

Robbery  story  killed.  Black  type  across  page-head  last 
edition,  "Treasure-train  safe!" 

McGRATH. 

"Show  it  to  Miss  Euston,"  Craig  added,  simply, 
gathering  up  his  wired  wireless  set,  just  as  the  crew 
from  the  train  behind  us  ran  up.  "She  may  like  to 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

know  that  she  has  saved  her  father  from  himself 
through  misunderstanding  her  lover." 

I  thought  Maude  Euston  would  faint  as  she 
clutched  the  message.  Lane  caught  her  as  she  reeled 
backward. 

"Rodman — can  you — forgive  me?"  she  mur- 
mured, simply,  yielding  to  him  and  looking  up  into 
his  face. 


II 

THE   TRUTH-DETECTOR 

"\70U  haven't  heard — no  one  outside  has  heard — 

I  of  the  strange  illness  and  the  robbery  of  my 
employer,  Mr.  Mansfield — 'Diamond  Jack'  Mans- 
field, you  know." 

Our  visitor  was  a  slight,  very  pretty,  but  extremely 
nervous  girl,  who  had  given  us  a  card  bearing  the 
name  Miss  Helen  Grey. 

"Illness — robbery?"  repeated  Kennedy,  at  once 
interested  and  turning  a  quick  glance  at  me. 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders  in  the  negative.  Neither 
the  Star  nor  any  of  the  other  papers  had  had  a  word 
about  it. 

''Why,  what's  the  trouble?"  he  continued  to  Miss 
Grey. 

"You  see,"  she  explained,  hurrying  on,  "I'm  Mr. 
Mansfield's  private  secretary,  and — oh,  Professor 
Kennedy,  I  don't  know,  but  I'm  afraid  it  is  a  case 
for  a  detective  rather  than  a  doctor."  She  paused  a 
moment  and  leaned  forward  nearer  to  us.  "I  think 
he  has  been  poisoned!" 

The  words  themselves  were  startling  enough  with- 
out the  evident  perturbation  of  the  girl.  Whatever 
one  might  think,  there  was  no  doubt  that  she  firmly 
believed  what  she  professed  to  fear.  More  than 

26 


THE   TRUTH-DETECTOR 

that,  I  fancied  I  detected  a  deeper  feeling  in  her 
tone  than  merely  loyalty  to  her  employer. 

"Diamond  Jack"  Mansfield  was  known  in  Wall 
Street  as  a  successful  promoter,  on  the  White  Way 
as  an  assiduous  first-nighter,  in  the  sporting  fra- 
ternity as  a  keen  plunger.  But  of  all  his  hobbies, 
none  had  gained  him  more  notoriety  than  his 
veritable  passion  for  collecting  diamonds. 

He  came  by  his  sobriquet  honestly.  I  remembered 
once  having  seen  him,  and  he  was,  in  fact,  a  walking 
De  Beers  mine.  For  his  personal  adornment,  more 
than  a  million  dollars'  worth  of  gems  did  relay  duty. 
He  had  scores  of  sets,  every  one  of  them  fit  for  a 
king  of  diamonds.  It  was  a  curious  hobby  for  a 
great,  strong  man,  yet  he  was  not  alone  in  his  love 
of  and  sheer  affection  for  things  beautiful.  Not  love 
of  display  or  desire  to  attract  notice  to  himself  had 
prompted  him  to  collect  diamonds,  but  the  mere 
pleasure  of  owning  them,  of  associating  with  them. 
It  was  a  hobby. 

It  was  not  strange,  therefore,  to  suspect  that 
Mansfield  might,  after  all,  have  been  the  victim  of 
some  kind  of  attack.  He  went  about  with  perfect 
freedom,  in  spite  of  the  knowledge  that  crooks  must 
have  possessed  about  his  hoard. 

"What  makes  you  think  he  has  been  poisoned?" 
asked  Kennedy,  betraying  no  show  of  doubt  that 
Miss  Grey  might  be  right. 

"Oh,  it's  so  strange,  so  sudden!"  she  murmured. 

"But  how  do  you  think  it  could  have  happened?" 
he  persisted. 

"It  must  have  been  at  the  little  supper-party  he 
gave  at  his  apartment  last  night,"  she  answered, 

27 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

thoughtfully,  then  added,  more  slowly,  "and  yet, 
it  was  not  until  this  morning,  eight  or  ten  hours  after 
the  party,  that  he  became  ill."  She  shuddered. 
"Paroxysms  of  nausea,  followed  by  stupor  and  such 
terrible  prostration.  His  valet  discovered  him  and 
sent  for  Doctor  Murray — and  then  for  me." 

"How  about  the  robbery?"  prompted  Kennedy, 
as  it  became  evident  that  it  was  Mansfield's  physical 
condition  more  than  anything  else  that  was  on  Miss 
Grey's  mind. 

"Oh  yes" — she  recalled  herself — "I  suppose  you 
know  something  of  his  gems?  Most  people  do." 
Kennedy  nodded.  "He  usually  keeps  them  in  a 
safe- deposit  vault  down- town,  from  which  he  will 
get  whatever  set  he  feels  like  wearing.  Last  night 
it  was  the  one  he  calls  his  sporting-set  that  he  wore, 
by  far  the  finest.  It  cost  over  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars,  and  is  one  of  the  most  curious  of  all  the 
studies  in  personal  adornment  that  he  owns.  All  the 
stones  are  of  the  purest  blue-white  and  the  set  is 
entirely  based  on  platinum. 

"But  what  makes  it  most  remarkable  is  that  it 
contains  the  famous  M-I273,  as  he  calls  it.  The  M 
stands  for  Mansfield,  and  the  figures  represent  the 
number  of  stones  he  had  purchased  up  to  the  time 
that  he  acquired  this  huge  one." 

"How  could  they  have  been  taken,  do  you  think?" 
ventured  Kennedy.  Miss  Grey  shook  her  head 
doubtfully. 

"I  think  the  wall  safe  must  have  been  opened 
somehow,"  she  returned. 

Kennedy  mechanically  wrote  the  number,  M- 
1273,  on  a  piece  of  paper. 

28 


THE   TRUTH-DETECTOR 

"It  has  a  weird  history,"  she  went  on,  observing 
what  he  had  written,  "and  this  mammoth  blue- 
white  diamond  in  the  ring  is  as  blue  as  the  famous 
Hope  diamond  that  has  brought  misfortune  through 
half  the  world.  This  stone,  they  say,  was  pried 
from  the  mouth  of  a  dying  negro  in  South  Africa. 
He  had  tried  to  smuggle  it  from  the  mine,  and 
when  he  was  caught  cursed  the  gem  and  every  one 
who  ever  should  own  it.  One  owner  in  Amsterdam 
failed;  another  in  Antwerp  committed  suicide;  a 
Russian  nobleman  was  banished  to  Siberia,  and 
another  went  bankrupt  and  lost  his  home  and 
family.  Now  here  it  is  in  Mr.  Mansfield's  life.  I — 
I  hate  it !"  I  could  not  tell  whether  it  was  the  super- 
stition or  the  recent  events  themselves  which  weighed 
most  in  her  mind,  but,  at  any  rate,  she  resumed, 
somewhat  bitterly,  a  moment  later:  "M-I273?  M 
is  the  thirteenth  letter  of  the  alphabet,  and  i,  2,  7,  3 
add  up  to  thirteen.  The  first  and  last  numbers 
make  thirteen,  and  John  Mansfield  has  thirteen 
letters  in  his  name.  I  wish  he  had  never  worn  the 
thing — never  bought  it!" 

The  more  I  listened  to  her  the  more  impressed 
I  was  with  the  fact  that  there  was  something  more 
here  than  the  feeling  of  a  private  secretary. 

"Who  were  in  the  supper-party?"  asked  Kennedy.  , 

"He  gave  it  for  Madeline  Hargrave — the  pretty | 
little  actress,  you  know,  who  took  New  York  by 
storm  last  season  in   'The  Sport'  and  is  booked, 
next  week,  to  appear  in  the  new  show,  'The  Astor 
Cup.'  " 

Miss  Grey  said  it,  I  thought,  with  a  sort  of  wistful 
envy.  Mansfield's  gay  little  bohemian  gatherings 

29 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

were  well  known.  Though  he  was  not  young,  he 
was  still  somewhat  of  a  Lothario. 

"Who  else  was  there?"  asked  Kennedy. 

"Then  there  was  Mina  Leitch,  a  member  of  Miss 
Hargrave's  new  company,"  she  went  on.  "Another 
was  Fleming  Lewis,  the  Wall  Street  broker.  Doctor 
Murray  and  myself  completed  the  party." 

"Doctor  Murray  is  his  personal  physician?"  vent- 
ured Craig. 

"Yes.  You  know  when  Mr.  Mansfield's  stomach 
went  back  on  him  last  year  it  was  Doctor  Murray 
who  really  cured  him." 

Kennedy  nodded. 

"Might  this  present  trouble  be  a  recurrence  of  the 
old  trouble?" 

She  shook  her  head.  ' '  No ;  this  is  entirely  different. 
Oh,  I  wish  that  you  could  go  with  me  and  see  him!" 
she  pleaded. 

"I  will,"  agreed  Kennedy. 

A  moment  later  we  were  speeding  in  a  taxicab 
over  to  the  apartment. 

"Really,"  she  remarked,  nervously,  "I  feel  lost 
with  Mr.  Mansfield  so  ill.  He  has  so  many  interests 
down-town  that  require  constant  attention  that 
just  the  loss  of  time  means  a  great  deal.  Of  course, 
I  understand  many  of  them — but,  you  know,  a 
private  secretary  can't  conduct  a  man's  business. 
And  just  now,  when  I  came  up  from  the  office,  1 
couldn't  believe  that  he  was  too  ill  to  care  about 
things  until  I  actually  saw  him." 

We  entered  the  apartment.  A  mere  glance  about 
showed  that,  even  though  Mansfield's  hobby  was 
diamonds,  he  was  no  mean  collector  of  other  articles 


THE   TRUTH-DETECTOR 

of  beauty.  In  the  big  living-room,  which  was  almost 
like  a  studio,  we  met  a  tall,  spare,  polished-mannered 
man,  whom  I  quickly  recognized  as  Doctor  Murray. 

"Is  he  any  better?"  blurted  out  Miss  Grey,  even 
before  our  introductions  were  over.  Doctor  Murray 
shook  his  head  gravely. 

"About  the  same,"  he  answered,  though  one  could 
find  little  reassurance  in  his  tone. 

"I  should  like  to  see  him,"  hinted  Kennedy, 
"unless  there  is  some  real  reason  why  I  should  not." 

"No,"  replied  the  doctor,  absently;  "on  the 
contrary,  it  might  perhaps  rouse  him." 

He  led  the  way  down  the  hall,  and  Kennedy  and 
I  followed,  while  Miss  Grey  attempted  to  busy  her- 
self over  some  affairs  at  a  huge  mahogany  table  in 
the  library  just  off  the  living-room. 

Mansfield  had  shown  the  same  love  of  luxury  and 
the  bizarre  even  in  the  furnishing  of  his  bedroom, 
which  was  a  black-and-white  room  with  furniture  of 
Chinese  lacquer  and  teakwood. 

Kennedy  looked  at  the  veteran  plunger  long  and 
thoughtfully  as  he  lay  stretched  out,  listless,  on  the 
handsome  bed.  Mansfield  seemed  completely  indif- 
ferent to  our  presence.  There  was  something  un- 
canny about  him.  Already  his  face  was  shrunken, 
his  skin  dark,  and  his  eyes  were  hollow. 

"What  do  you  suppose  it  is?"  asked  Kennedy, 
bending  over  him,  and  then  rising  and  averting  his 
head  so  that  Mansfield  could  not  hear,  even  if  his 
vagrant  faculties  should  be  attracted.  "His  pulse  is 
terribly  weak  and  his  heart  scarcely  makes  a  sound." 

Doctor  Murray's  face  knit  in  deep  lines. 

"I'm  afraid,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "that  I  will 

31 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

have  to  admit  not  having  been  able  to  diagnose  the 
trouble.    I  was  just  considering  whom  I  might  call 

in." 

"What  have  you  done?"  asked  Kennedy,  as  the 
two  moved  a  little  farther  out  of  ear-shot  of  the 
patient. 

"Well,"  replied  the  doctor,  slowly,  "when  his 
valet  called  me  in,  I  must  admit  that  my  first  im- 
pression was  that  I  had  to  deal  with  a  case  of  diph- 
theria. I  was  so  impressed  that  I  even  took  a  blood 
smear  and  examined  it.  It  showed  the  presence  of  a 
tox  albumin.  But  it  isn't  diphtheria.  The  anti- 
toxin has  had  no  effect.  No;  it  isn't  diphtheria. 
But  the  poison  is  there.  I  might  have  thought  it 
was  cholera,  only  that  seems  so  impossible  here  in 
New  York."  Doctor  Murray  looked  at  Kennedy 
with  no  effort  to  conceal  his  perplexity.  "Over  and 
over  I  have  asked  myself  what  it  could  be,"  he  went 
on.  "It  seems  to  me  that  I  have  thought  over  about 
everything  that  is  possible.  Always  I  get  back  to 
the  fact  that  there  is  that  tox  albumin  present.  In 
some  respects,  it  seems  like  the  bite  of  a  poisonous 
animal.  There  are  no  marks,  of  course,  and  it  seems 
altogether  impossible,  yet  it  acts  precisely  as  I  have 
seen  snake  bites  affect  people.  I  am  that  desperate 
that  I  would  try  the  Noguchi  antivenene,  but  it 
would  have  no  more  effect  than  the  antitoxin.  No; 
I  can  only  conclude  that  there  is  some  narcotic  irri- 
tant which  especially  affects  the  lungs  and  heart." 

"Will  you  let  me  have  one  of  the  blood  smears?" 
asked  Kennedy. 

"Certainly,"  replied  the  doctor,  reaching  over  and 
taking  a  glass  slide  from  several  lying  on  a  table. 

32 


THE   TRUTH-DETECTOR 

For  some  time  after  we  left  the  sick-room  Craig 
appeared  to  be  considering  what  Doctor  Murray 
had  said. 

Seeking  to  find  Miss  Grey  in  the  library,  we  found 
ourselves  in  the  handsome,  all-wood-paneled  dining- 
room.  It  still  showed  evidences  of  the  late  banquet 
of  the  night  before. 

Craig  paused  a  moment  in  doubt  which  way  to  go, 
then  picked  up  from  the  table  a  beautifully  decorated 
menu-card.  As  he  ran  his  eye  down  it  mechanically, 
he  paused. 

"Champignons,"  he  remarked,  thoughtfully.  "H-m! 
— mushrooms." 

Instead  of  going  on  toward  the  library,  he  turned 
and  passed  through  a  swinging  door  into  the  kitchen. 
There  was  no  one  there,  but  it  was  in  a  much  more 
upset  condition  than  the  dining-room. 

"Pardon,  monsieur,"  sounded  a  voice  behind  us. 

It  was  the  French  chef  who  had  entered  from  the 
direction  of  the  servants'  quarters,  and  was  now  all 
apologies  for  the  untidy  appearance  of  the  realm 
over  which  he  presided.  The  strain  of  the  dinner 
had  been  too  much  for  his  assistants,  he  hastened  to 
explain. 

"I  see  that  you  had  mushrooms — creamed," 
remarked  Kennedy. 

"Oui,  monsieur,"  he  replied;  "some  that  Miss 
Hargrave  herself  sent  in  from  her  mushroom-cellar 
out  in  the  country." 

As  he  said  it  his  eye  traveled  involuntarily  toward 
a  pile  of  ramekins  on  a  table.  Kennedy  noticed  it 
and  deliberately  walked  over  to  the  table.  Before  I 
knew  what  he  was  about  he  had  scooped  from  them 

33 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

each  a  bit  of  the  contents  and  placed  it  in  some 
waxed  paper  that  was  lying  near  by.  The  chef 
watched  him  curiously. 

"You  would  not  find  my  kitchen  like  this  ordi- 
narily," he  remarked.  "I  would  not  like  to  have 
Doctor  Murray  see  it,  for  since  last  year,  when 
monsieur  had  the  bad  stomach,  I  have  been  very 
careful." 

The  chef  seemed  to  be  nervous. 

"You  prepared  the  mushrooms  yourself?"  asked 
Kennedy,  suddenly. 

"I  directed  my  assistant,"  came  back  the  wary 
reply. 

"But  you  know  good  mushrooms  when  you  see 
them?" 

"Certainly,"  he  replied,  quickly. 

"There  was  no  one  else  in  the  kitchen  while  you 
prepared  them?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  hurriedly;  "Mr.  Mansfield 
came  in,  and  Miss  Hargrave.  Oh,  they  are  very 
particular!  And  Doctor  Murray,  he  has  given  me 
special  orders  ever  since  last  year,  when  monsieur 
had  the  bad  stomach,"  he  repeated. 

"Was  any  one  else  here?" 

"Yes — I  think  so.  You  see,  I  am  so  excited — a 
big  dinner — such  epicures — everything  must  be  just 
so — I  cannot  say." 

There  seemed  to  be  little  satisfaction  in  quizzing 
the  chef,  and  Kennedy  turned  again  into  the  dining- 
room,  making  his  way  back  to  the  library,  where 
Miss  Grey  was  waiting  anxiously  for  us. 

"What  do  you  think?"  she  asked,  eagerly. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  think,"  replied  Kennedy. 
34 


THE   TRUTH-DETECTOR 

"No  one  else  has  felt  any  ill  effects  from  the  supper, 
I  suppose?" 

"No,"  she  replied;  "at  least,  I'm  sure  I  would 
have  heard  by  this  time  if  they  had." 

"Do  you  recall  anything  peculiar  about  the 
mushrooms?"  shot  out  Kennedy. 

"We  talked  about  them  some  time,  I  remember," 
she  said,  slowly.  "Growing  mushrooms  is  one  of 
Miss  Hargrave's  hobbies  out  at  her  place  on  Long 
Island." 

"Yes,"  persisted  Kennedy;  "but  I  mean  any- 
thing peculiar  about  the  preparation  of  them." 

"Why,  yes,"  she  said,  suddenly;  "I  believe  that 
Miss  Hargrave  was  to  have  superintended  them 
herself.  We  all  went  out  into  the  kitchen.  But  it 
was  too  late.  They  had  been  prepared  already." 

"You  were  all  in  the  kitchen?" 

"Yes;  I  remember.  It  was  before  the  supper  and 
just  after  we  came  in  from  the  theater-party  which 
Mr.  Mansfield  gave.  You  know  Mr.  Mansfield  is 
always  doing  unconventional  things  like  that.  If  he 
took  a  notion,  he  would  go  into  the  kitchen  of  the 
Ritz." 

"That  is  what  I  was  trying  to  get  out  of  the  chef — 
Frangois,"  remarked  Kennedy.  "He  didn't  seem 
to  have  a  very  clear  idea  of  what  happened.  I 
think  I'll  see  him  again — right  away." 

We  found  the  chef  busily  at  work,  now,  cleaning 
up.  As  Kennedy  asked  him  a  few  inconsequential 
questions,  his  eye  caught  a  row  of  books  on  a  shelf. 
It  was  a  most  complete  library  of  the  culinary  arts. 
Craig  selected  one  and  turned  the  pages  over  rapidly. 
Then  he  came  back  to  the  frontispiece,  which  showed 

35 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

a  model  dinner-table  set  for  a  number  of  guests. 
He  placed  the  picture  before  Francois,  then  with- 
drew it  in,  I  should  say,  about  ten  seconds.  It  was 
a  strange  and  incomprehensible  action,  but  I  was 
more  surprised  when  Kennedy  added: 

"Now  tell  me  what  you  saw." 

Francois  was  quite  overwhelming  in  his  desire  to 
please.  Just  what  was  going  on  in  his  mind  I  could 
not  guess,  nor  did  he  betray  it,  but  quickly  he 
enumerated  the  objects  on  the  table,  gradually 
slowing  up  as  the  number  which  he  recollected 
became  exhausted. 

"Were  there  candles?"  prompted  Craig,  as  the 
flow  of  Francois's  description  ceased. 

"Oh  yes,  candles,"  he  agreed,  eagerly. 

"Favors  at  each  place?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

I  could  see  no  sense  in  the  proceeding,  yet  knew 
Kennedy  too  well  to  suppose,  for  an  instant,  that 
he  had  not  some  purpose. 

The  questioning  over,  Kennedy  withdrew,  leaving 
poor  Frangois  more  mystified  than  ever. 

"Well,"  I  exclaimed,  as  we  passed  through  the 
dining-room,  "what  was  all  that?" 

"That,"  he  explained,  "is  what  is  known  to 
criminologists  as  the  'Aussage  test.'  Just  try  it 
some  time  when  you  get  a  chance.  If  there  are,  say, 
fifty  objects  in  a  picture,  normally  a  person  may 
recall  perhaps  twenty  of  them." 

"I  see,"  I  interrupted;   "a  test  of  memory." 

"More  than  that,"  he  replied.  "You  remember 
that,  at  the  end,  I  suggested  several  things  likely 
to  be  on  the  table.  They  were  not  there,  as  you 


THE   TRUTH-DETECTOR 

might  have  seen  if  you  had  had  the  picture  before 
you.  That  was  a  test  of  the  susceptibility  to  sug- 
gestion of  the  chef.  Frangois  may  not  mean  to  lie, 
but  I'm  afraid  we'll  have  to  get  along  without  him 
in  getting  to  the  bottom  of  the  case.  You  see, 
before  we  go  any  further  we  know  that  he  is  unre- 
liable— to  say  the  least.  It  may  be  that  nothing  at 
all  happened  in  the  kitchen  to  the  mushrooms. 
We'll  never  discover  it  from  him.  We  must  get  it 
elsewhere." 

Miss  Grey  had  been  trying  to  straighten  out  some 
of  the  snarls  which  Mansfield's  business  affairs  had 
got  into  as  a  result  of  his  illness ;  but  it  was  evident 
that  she  had  difficulty  in  keeping  her  mind  on  her 
work. 

"The  next  thing  I'd  like  to  see,"  asked  Kennedy, 
when  we  rejoined  her,  "is  that  wall  safe." 

She  led  the  way  down  the  hall  and  into  an  ante- 
room to  Mansfield's  part  of  the  suite.  The  safe 
itself  was  a  comparatively  simple  affair  inside  a 
closet.  Indeed,  I  doubt  whether  it  had  been  seriously 
designed  to  be  burglar-proof.  Rather  it  was  merely 
a  protection  against  fire. 

"Have  you  any  suspicion  about  when  the  robbery- 
took  place?"  asked  Kennedy,  as  we  peered  into  the 
empty  compartment.  "I  wish  I  had  been  called  in 
the  first  thing  when  it  was  discovered.  There  might 
have  been  some  chance  to  discover  finger-prints. 
But  now,  I  suppose,  every  clue  of  that  sort  has  been 
obliterated." 

"No,"  she  replied;  "I  don't  know  whether  it 
happened  before  or  after  Mr.  Mansfield  was  dis- 
covered so  ill  by  his  valet." 

*  37 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

"But  at  least  you  can  give  me  some  idea  of  when 
the  jewels  were  placed  in  the  safe." 

"It  must  have  been  before  the  supper,  right  after 
our  return  from  the  theater." 

"So?"  considered  Kennedy.  "Then  that  would 
mean  that  they  might  have  been  taken  by  any  one, 
don't  you  see?  Why  did  he  place  them  in  the  safe 
so  soon,  instead  of  wearing  them  the  rest  of  the 


evening 


"I  hadn't  thought  of  that  way  of  looking  at  it," 
she  admitted.  "Why,  when  we  came  home  from 
the  theater  I  remember  it  had  been  so  warm  that 
Mr.  Mansfield's  collar  was  wilted  and  his  dress  shirt 
rumpled.  He  excused  himself,  and  when  he  returned 
he  was  not  wearing  the  diamonds.  We  noticed  it, 
and  Miss  Hargrave  expressed  a  wish  that  she  might 
wear  the  big  diamond  at  the  opening  night  of  'The 
Astor  Cup.'  Mr.  Mansfield  promised  that  she  might 
and  nothing  more  was  said  about  it." 

"Did  you  notice  anything  else  at  the  dinner — no 
matter  how  trivial?"  asked  Kennedy. 

Helen  Grey  seemed  to  hesitate,  then  said,  in  a 
low  voice,  as  though  the  words  were  wrung  from  her : 

"Of  course,  the  party  and  the  supper  were  given 
ostensibly  to  Miss  Hargrave.  But— lately — I  have 
thought  he  was  paying  quite  as  much  attention  to 
Mina  Leitch." 

It  was  quite  in  keeping  with  what  we  knew  of 
"Diamond  Jack."  Perhaps  it  was  this  seeming 
fickleness  which  had  saved  him  from  many  en- 
tangling alliances.  Miss  Grey  said  it  in  such  a  way 
that  it  seemed  like  an  apology  for  a  fault  in  his 
character  which  she  would  rather  have  hidden.  Yet 

38 


THE   TRUTH-DETECTOR 

I  could  not  but  fancy  that  it  mitigated  somewhat 
the  wistful  envy  I  had  noticed  before  when  she  spoke 
of  Madeline  Hargrave. 

While  he  had  been  questioning  her  Kennedy  had 
been  examining  the  wall  safe,  particularly  with 
reference  to  its  accessibility  from  the  rest  of  the 
apartment.  There  appeared  to  be  no  reason  why 
one  could  not  have  got  at  it  from  the  hallway  as  well 
as  from  Mansfield's  room. 

The  safe  itself  seemed  to  yield  no  clue,  and 
Kennedy  was  about  to  turn  away  when  he  happened 
to  glance  down  at  the  dark  interior  of  the  closet 
floor.  He  stooped  down.  When  he  rose  he  had 
something  in  his  hand.  It  was  just  a  little  thin 
piece  of  something  that  glittered  iridescently. 

"A  spangle  from  a  sequin  dress,"  he  muttered  to 
himself;  then,  turning  to  Miss  Grey,  "Did  any  one 
wear  such  a  dress  last  night?" 

Helen  Grey  looked  positively  frightened.  "Miss 
Hargrave!"  she  murmured,  simply.  "Oh,  it  cannot 
be — there  must  be  some  mistake!" 

Just  then  we  heard  voices  in  the  hall. 

"But,  Murray,  I  don't  see  why  I  can't  see  him," 
said  one. 

"What  good  will  it  do,  Lewis?"  returned  the 
other,  which  I  recognized  as  that  of  Doctor  Murray. 

"Fleming  Lewis,"  whispered  Miss  Grey,  taking  a 
step  out  into  the  hallway. 

A  moment  later  Doctor  Murray  and  Lewis  had 
joined  us. 

I  could  see  that  there  was  some  feeling  between 
the  two  men,  though  what  it  was  about  I  could  not 
say.  As  Miss  Grey  introduced  us,  I  glanced  hastily 

39  f 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye  at  Kennedy.  Involun- 
tarily his  hand  which  held  the  telltale  sequin  had 
sought  his  waistcoat  pocket,  as  though  to  hide  it. 
Then  I  saw  him  check  the  action  and  deliberately 
examine  the  piece  of  tinsel  between  his  thumb  and 
forefinger. 

Doctor  Murray  saw  it,  too,  and  his  eyes  were 
riveted  on  it,  as  though  instantly  he  saw  its  sig- 
nificance. 

"What  do  you  think — Jack  as  sick  as  a  dog,  and 
robbed,  too,  and  yet  Murray  says  I  oughtn't  to  see 
him!"  complained  Lewis,  for  the  moment  oblivious 
to  the  fact  that  all  our  eyes  were  riveted  on  the 
spangle  between  Kennedy's  fingers.  And  then, 
slowly  it  seemed  to  dawn  on  him  what  it  was. 
"Madeline's!"  he  exclaimed,  quickly.  "So  Mina 
did  tear  it,  after  all,  when  she  stepped  on  the  train." 

Kennedy  watched  the  faces  before  us  keenly.  No 
one  said  anything.  It  was  evident  that  some  such 
incident  had  happened.  But  had  Lewis,  with  a 
quick  flash  of  genius,  sought  to  cover  up  something, 
protect  somebody? 

Miss  Grey  was  evidently  anxious  to  transfer  the 
scene  at  least  to  the  living-room,  away  from  the 
sick-room,  and  Kennedy,  seeing  it,  fell  in  with  the 
idea. 

"Looks  to  me  as  though  this  robbery  was  an 
inside  affair,"  remarked  Lewis,  as  we  all  stood  for 
a  moment  in  the  living-room.  "Do  you  suppose  one 
of  the  servants  could  have  been  'planted'  for  the 
purpose  of  pulling  it  off?" 

The  idea  was  plausible  enough.  Yet,  plausible  as 
the  suggestion  might  seem,  it  took  no  account  of 

40 


THE   TRUTH-DETECTOR 

the  other  circumstances  of  the  case.  I  could  not 
believe  that  the  illness  of  Mansfield  was  merely  an 
unfortunate  coincidence. 

Fleming  Lewis's  unguarded  and  blunt  tendency  to 
blurt  out  whatever  seemed  uppermost  in  his  mind 
soon  became  a  study  to  me  as  we  talked  together  in 
the  living-room.  I  could  not  quite  make  out  whether 
it  was  studied  and  astute  or  whether  it  was  merely 
the  natural  exuberance  of  youth.  There  was  cer- 
tainly some  sort  of  enmity  between  him  and  the 
doctor,  which  the  remark  about  the  spangle  seemed 
to  fan  into  a  flame. 

Miss  Grey  manoeuvered  tactfully,  however,  to 
prevent  a  scene.  And,  after  an  interchange  of  re- 
marks that  threw  more  heat  than  light  on  the 
matter,  Kennedy  and  I  followed  Lewis  out  to  the 
elevator,  with  a  parting  promise  to  keep  in  touch 
with  Miss  Grey. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  spangle?"  I  queried 
of  Craig  as  Lewis  bade  us  a  hasty  good-by  and 
climbed  into  his  car  at  the  street-entrance.  "Is  it 
a  clue  or  a  stall?" 

"That  remains  to  be  seen,"  he  replied,  non- 
committally.  "Just  now  the  thing  that  interests 
me  most  is  what  I  can  accomplish  at  the  laboratory 
in  the  way  of  finding  out  what  is  the  matter  with 
Mansfield." 

While  Kennedy  was  busy  with  the  various  solu- 
tions which  he  made  of  the  contents  of  the  ramekins 
that  had  held  the  mushrooms,  I  wandered  over  to 
the  university  library  and  waded  through  several 
volumes  on  fungi  without  learning  anything  of  value. 
Finally,  knowing  that  Kennedy  would  probably  be 

41 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

busy  for  some  time,  and  that  all  I  should  get  for  my 
pains  by  questioning  him  would  be  monosyllabic 
grunts  until  he  was  quite  convinced  that  he  was  on 
the  trail  of  something,  I  determined  to  run  into  the 
up-town  office  of  the  Star  and  talk  over  the  affair 
as  well  as  I  could  without  violating  what  I  felt  had 
been  given  us  in  confidence. 

I  could  not,  it  turned  out,  have  done  anything 
better,  for  it  seemed  to  be  the  gossip  of  the  Broadway 
cafes  and  cabarets  that  Mansfield  had  been  plunging 
rather  deeply  lately  and  had  talked  many  of  his 
acquaintances  into  joining  him  in  a  pool,  either 
outright  or  on  margins.  It  seemed  to  be  a  safe  bet 
that  not  only  Lewis  and  Doctor  Murray  had  joined 
him,  but  that  Madeline  Hargrave  and  Mina  Leitch, 
who  had  had  a  successful  season  and  some  spare 
thousands  to  invest,  might  have  gone  in,  too.  So 
far  the  fortunes  of  the  stock-market  had  not  smiled 
on  Mansfield's  schemes,  and,  I  reflected,  it  was  not 
impossible  that  what  might  be  merely  an  incident 
to  a  man  like  Mansfield  could  be  very  serious  to  the 
rest  of  them. 

It  was  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  when  I  re- 
turned to  the  laboratory  with  my  slender  budget  of 
news.  Craig  was  quite  interested  in  what  I  had  to 
say,  even  pausing  for  a  few  moments  in  his  work  to 
listen. 

In  several  cages  I  saw  that  he  had  a  number  of 
little  guinea-pigs.  One  of  them  was  plainly  in  dis- 
tress, and  Kennedy  had  been  watching  him  intently. 

"It's  strange,"  he  remarked.  "  I  had  samples  of 
material  from  six  ramekins.  Five  of  them  seem  to 
have  had  no  effect  whatever.  But  if  the  bit  that  I 

42 


THE   TRUTH-DETECTOR 

gave  this  fellow  causes  such  distress,  what  would  a 
larger  quantity  do?" 

"Then  one  of  the  ramekins  was  poisoned?"  I 
questioned. 

"I  have  discovered  in  it,  as  well  as  in  the  blood 
smear,  the  tox  albumin  that  Doctor  Murray  men- 
tioned," he  said,  simply,  pulling  out  his  watch.  "It 
isn't  late.  I  think  I  shall  have  to  take  a  trip  out  to 
Miss  Hargrave's.  We  ought  to  do  it  in  an  hour  and 
a  half  in  a  car." 

Kennedy  said  very  little  as  we  sped  out  over  the 
Long  Island  roads  that  led  to  the  little  colony  of 
actors  and  actresses  at  Cedar  Grove.  He  seemed 
rather  to  be  enjoying  the  chance  to  get  away  from 
the  city  and  turn  over  in  his  mind  the  various 
problems  which  the  case  presented. 

As  for  myself,  I  had  by  this  time  convinced  myself 
that,  somehow,  the  mushrooms  were  involved.  What 
Kennedy  expected  to  find  I  could  not  guess.  But 
from  what  I  had  read  I  surmised  that  it  must  be 
that  one  of  the  poisonous  varieties  had  somehow  got 
mixed  with  the  others,  one  of  the  Amanitas,  just  as 
deadly  as  the  venom  of  the  rattler  or  the  copper- 
head. I  knew  that,  in  some  cases,  Amanitas  had 
been  used  to  commit  crimes.  Was  this  such  a  case? 

We  had  no  trouble  in  finding  the  estate  of  Miss 
Hargrave,  and  she  was  at  home. 

Kennedy  lost  no  time  introducing  himself  and 
coming  to  the  point  of  his  visit.  Madeline  Hargrave 
was  a  slender,  willowy  type  of  girl,  pronouncedly 
blond,  striking,  precisely  the  type  I  should  have 
imagined  that  Mansfield  would  have  been  proud  to 
be  seen  with. 

43 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

"I've  just  heard  of  Mr.  Mansfield's  illness,"  she 
said,  anxiously.  "Mr.  Lewis  called  me  up  and  told 
me.  I  don't  see  why  Miss  Grey  or  Doctor  Murray 
didn't  let  me  know  sooner." 

She  said  it  with  an  air  of  vexation,  as  though  she 
felt  slighted.  In  spite  of  her  evident  anxiety  to  know 
about  the  tragedy,  however,  I  did  not  detect  the 
depth  of  feeling  that  Helen  Grey  had  shown.  In 
fact,  the  thoughtfulness  of  Fleming  Lewis  almost 
led  me  to  believe  that  it  was  he,  rather  than  Mans- 
field, for  whom  she  really  cared. 

We  chatted  a  few  minutes,  as  Kennedy  told  what 
little  we  had  discovered.  He  said  nothing  about  the 
spangle. 

"By  the  way,"  remarked  Craig,  at  length,  "I 
would  very  much  like  to  have  a  look  at  that  famous 
mushroom- cellar  of  yours." 

For  the  first  time  she  seemed  momentarily  to  lose 
her  poise. 

"I've  always  had  a  great  interest  in  mushrooms," 
she  explained,  hastily.  "You — you  do  not  think  it 
could  be  the  mushrooms — that  have  caused  Mr. 
Mansfield's  illness,  do  you?" 

Kennedy  passed  off  the  remark  as  best  he  could 
under  the  circumstances.  Though  she  was  not  satis- 
fied with  his  answer,  she  could  not  very  well  refuse 
his  request,  and  a  few  minutes  later  we  were  down  in 
the  dark  dampness  of  the  cellar  back  of  the  house, 
where  Kennedy  set  to  work  on  a  most  exhaustive 
search. 

I  could  see  by  the  expression  on  his  face,  as  his 
search  progressed,  that  he  was  not  finding  what  he 
had  expected.  Clearly,  the  fungi  before  us  were  the 

44 


THE   TRUTH-DETECTOR 

common  edible  mushrooms.  The  upper  side  of 
each,  as  he  examined  it,  was  white,  with  brownish 
fibrils,  or  scales.  Underneath,  some  were  a  beauti- 
ful salmon-pink,  changing  gradually  to  almost  black 
in  the  older  specimens.  The  stem  was  colored  like 
the  top.  But  search  as  he  might  for  what  I  knew  he 
was  after,  in  none  did  he  find  anything  but  a  small 
or  more  often  no  swelling  at  the  base,  and  no  "cup, " 
as  it  is  called. 

As  he  rose  after  his  thorough  search,  I  saw  that 
he  was  completely  baffled. 

"I  hardly  thought  you'd  find  anything,"  Miss 
Hargrave  remarked,  noticing  the  look  on  his  face. 
"I've  always  been  very  careful  of  my  mushrooms." 

"You  have  certainly  succeeded  admirably,"  he 
complimented. 

"I  hope  you  will  let  me  know  how  Mr.  Mansfield 
is,"  she  said,  as  we  started  back  toward  our  car  on 
the  road.  "I  can't  tell  you  how  I  feel.  To  think 
that,  after  a  party  which  he  gave  for  me,  he  should 
be  taken  ill,  and  not  only  that  but  be  robbed  at  the 
same  time!  Really,  you  must  let  me  know — or  I 
shall  have  to  come  up  to  the  city." 

It  seemed  gratuitous  for  Kennedy  to  promise, 
for  I  knew  that  he  was  by  no  means  through  with 
her  yet;  but  she  thanked  him,  and  we  turned  back 
toward  town. 

"Well,"  I  remarked,  as  we  reeled  off  the  miles 
quickly,  "I  must  say  that  that  puts  me  all  at  sea 
again.  I  had  convinced  myself  that  it  was  a  case  of 
mushroom  poisoning.  What  can  you  do  now?" 

"Do?"  he  echoed.  "Why,  go  on.  This  puts  us  a 
step  nearer  the  truth,  that's  all." 

45 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

Far  from  being  discouraged  at  what  had  seemed 
to  me  to  be  a  fatal  blow  to  the  theory,  he  now  seemed 
to  be  actually  encouraged.  Back  in  the  city,  he 
lost  no  time  in  getting  to  the  laboratory  again. 

A  package  from  the  botanical  department  of  the 
university  was  waiting  there  for  Kennedy,  but  before 
he  could  open  it  the  telephone  buzzed  furiously. 

I  could  gather  from  Kennedy's  words  that  it  was 
Helen  Grey. 

"I  shall  be  over  immediately,"  he  promised,  as  he 
hung  up  the  receiver  and  turned  to  me.  "Mansfield 
is  much  worse.  While  I  get  together  some  material 
I  must  take  over  there,  Walter,  I  want  you  to  call 
up  Miss  Hargrave  and  tell  her  to  start  for  the  city 
right  away — meet  us  at  Mansfield's.  Then  get 
Mina  Leitch  and  Lewis.  You'll  find  their  numbers 
in  the  book — or  else  you'll  have  to  get  them  from 
Miss  Grey." 

While  I  was  delivering  the  messages  as  diplo- 
matically as  possible  Kennedy  had  taken  a  vial  from 
a  medicine-chest,  and  then  from  a  cabinet  a  machine 
which  seemed  to  consist  of  a  number  of  collars  and 
belts  fastened  to  black  cylinders  from  which  ran 
tubes.  An  upright  roll  of  ruled  paper  supported  by 
a  clockwork  arrangement  for  revolving  it,  and  a 
standard  bearing  a  recording  pen,  completed  the 
outfit. 

"I  should  much  have  preferred  not  being  hur- 
ried," he  confessed,  as  we  dashed  over  in  the  car  to 
Mansfield's  again,  bearing  the  several  packages.  "I 
wanted  to  have  a  chance  to  interview  Mina  Leitch 
alone.  However,  it  has  now  become  a  matter  of  life 
or  death." 

46 


THE   TRUTH-DETECTOR 

Miss  Grey  was  pale  and  worn  as  she  met  us  in  the 
living-room. 

"He's  had  a  sinking- spell,"  she  said,  tremulously. 
' '  Doctor  Murray  managed  to  bring  him  around,  but 
he  seems  so  much  weaker  after  it.  Another  might — " 
She  broke  off,  unable  to  finish. 

A  glance  at  Mansfieid  was  enough  to  convince 
any  one  that  unless  something  was  done  soon  the 
end  was  not  far. 

"Another  convulsion  and  sinking- spell  is  about 
all  he  can  stand,"  remarked  Doctor  Murray. 

"May  I  try  something?"  asked  Kennedy,  hardly 
waiting  for  the  doctor  to  agree  before  he  had  pulled 
out  the  little  vial  which  I  had  seen  him  place  in  his 
pocket. 

Deftly  Kennedy  injected  some  of  the  contents  into 
Mansfield's  side,  then  stood  anxiously  watching  the 
effect.  The  minutes  lengthened.  At  least  he  seemed 
to  be  growing  no  worse. 

In  the  next  room,  on  a  table,  Kennedy  was  now 
busy  setting  out  the  scroll  of  ruled  paper  and  its 
clockwork  arrangement,  and  connecting  the  various 
tubes  from  the  black  cylinders  in  such  a  way  that 
the  recording  pen  just  barely  touched  on  the  scroll. 

He  had  come  back  to  note  the  still  unchanged  con- 
dition of  the  patient  when  the  door  opened  and  a 
handsome  woman  in  the  early  thirties  entered,  fol- 
lowed by  Helen  Grey.  It  was  Mina  Leitch. 

"Oh,  isn't  it  terrible!  I  can  hardly  believe  it!" 
she  cried,  paying  no  attention  to  us  as  she  moved 
over  to  Doctor  Murray. 

I  recalled  what  Miss  Grey  had  said  about  Mans- 
field's attentions.  It  was  evident  that,  as  far  as  Mina 

47 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

was  concerned,  her  own  attentions  were  monopo- 
lized by  the  polished  physician.  His  manner  in 
greeting  her  told  me  that  Doctor  Murray  appreciated 
it.  Just  then  Fleming  Lewis  bustled  in. 

"I  thought  Miss  Hargrave  was  here,"  he  said, 
abruptly,  looking  about.  "They  told  me  over  the 
wire  she  would  be." 

"She  should  be  here  any  moment,"  returned 
Kennedy,  looking  at  his  watch  and  finding  that  con- 
siderably over  an  hour  had  elapsed  since  I  had 
telephoned. 

What  it  was  I  could  not  say,  but  there  was  a  cold- 
ness toward  Lewis  that  amounted  to  more  than 
latent  hostility.  He  tried  to  appear  at  ease,  but  it 
was  a  decided  effort.  There  was  no  mistaking  his 
relief  when  the  tension  was  broken  by  the  arrival  of 
Madeline  Hargrave. 

The  circumstances  were  so  strange  that  none  of 
them  seemed  to  object  while  Kennedy  began  to 
explain,  briefly,  that,  as  nearly  as  he  could  determine, 
the  illness  of  Mansfield  might  be  due  to  something 
eaten  at  the  supper.  As  he  attached  the  bands  about 
the  necks  and  waists  of  one  after  another  of  the 
guests,  bringing  the  little  black  cylinders  thus  close 
to  the  middle  of  their  chests,  he  contrived  to  convey 
the  impression  that  he  would  like  to  determine 
whether  any  one  else  had  been  affected  in  a  lesser 
degree. 

I  watched  most  intently  the  two  women  who  had 
just  come  in.  One  would  certainly  not  have  de- 
tected from  their  greeting  and  outward  manner  any- 
thing more  than  that  they  were  well  acquainted. 
But  they  were  an  interesting  study,  two  quite  op- 

48 


THE   TRUTH-DETECTOR 

posite  types.  Madeline,  with  her  baby-blue  eyes, 
was  of  the  type  that  craved  admiration.  Mina's 
black  eyes  flashed  now  and  then  imperiously,  as 
though  she  sought  to  compel  what  the  other  sought 
to  win. 

As  for  Fleming  Lewis,  I  could  not  fail  to  notice 
that  he  was  most  attentive  to  Madeline,  though  he 
watched,  furtively,  but  none  the  less  keenly,  every 
movement  and  word  of  Mina. 

His  preparations  completed,  Kennedy  opened  the 
package  which  had  been  left  at  the  laboratory  just 
before  the  hasty  call  from  Miss  Grey.  As  he  did  so 
he  disclosed  several  specimens  of  a  mushroom  of 
pale-lemon  color,  with  a  center  of  deep  orange,  the 
top  flecked  with  white  bits.  Underneath,  the  gills 
were  white  and  the  stem  had  a  sort  of  veil  about  it. 
But  what  interested  me  most,  and  what  I  was  look- 
ing for,  was  the  remains  of  a  sort  of  dirty,  chocolate- 
colored  cup  at  the  base  of  the  stem. 

"I  suppose  there  is  scarcely  any  need  of  saying," 
began  Kennedy,  "that  the  food  which  I  suspect  in 
this  case  is  the  mushrooms.  Here  I  have  some 
which  I  have  fortunately  been  able  to  obtain  merely 
to  illustrate  what  I  am  going  to  say.  This  is  the 
deadly  Amanita  muscaria,  the  fly-agaric." 

Madeline  Hargrave  seemed  to  be  following  him 
with  a  peculiar  fascination. 

"This  Amanita,"  resumed  Kennedy,  "has  a  long 
history,  and  I  may  say  that  few  species  are  quite  so 
interesting.  Macerated  in  milk,  it  has  been  em- 
ployed for  centuries  as  a  fly-poison,  hence  its  name. 
Its  deadly  properties  were  known  to  the  ancients,  and 
it  is  justly  celebrated  because  of  its  long  and  dis- 

49 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

tinguished  list  of  victims.  Agrippina  used  it  to 
poison  the  Emperor  Claudius.  Among  others,  the 
Czar  Alexis  of  Russia  died  of  eating  it. 

"I  have  heard  that  some  people  find  it  only  a 
narcotic,  and  it  is  said  that  in  Siberia  there  are 
actually  Amanita  debauchees  who  go  on  prolonged 
tears  by  eating  the  thing.  It  may  be  that  it  does  not 
affect  some  people  as  it  does  others,  but  in  most 
cases  that  beautiful  gossamer  veil  which  you  see 
about  the  stem  is  really  a  shroud. 

"The  worst  of  it  is,"  he  continued,  "that  this 
Amanita  somewhat  resembles  the  royal  agaric,  the 
Amanita  c&sarea.  It  is,  as  you  see,  strikingly  beau- 
tiful, and  therefore  all  the  more  dangerous." 

He  ceased  a  moment,  while  we  looked  in  a  sort  of 
awe  at  the  fatally  beautiful  thing. 

"It  is  not  with  the  fungus  that  I  am  so  much 
interested  just  now,  however,"  Kennedy  began  again, 
"but  with  the  poison.  Many  years  ago  scientists 
analyzed  its  poisonous  alkaloids  and  found  what 
they  called  bulbosine.  Later  it  was  named  muscarin, 
and  now  is  sometimes  known  as  amanitin,  since  it 
is  confined  to  the  mushrooms  of  the  Amanita  genus. 

"Amanitin  is  a  wonderful  and  dangerous  alkaloid, 
which  is  absorbed  in  the  intestinal  canal.  It  is  ex- 
tremely violent.  Three  to  five  one-thousandths  of 
a  gram,  or  six  one-hundredths  of  a  grain,  are  very 
dangerous.  More  than  that,  the  poisoning  differs 
from  most  poisons  in  the  long  time  that  elapses 
between  the  taking  of  it  and  the  first  evidences  of 
its  effects. 

"Muscarin,"  Kennedy  concluded,  "has  been 
chemically  investigated  more  often  than  any  other 

So 


THE   TRUTH-DETECTOR 

mushroom  poison  and  a  perfect  antidote  has  been 
discovered.  Atropin,  or  belladonna,  is  such  a  drug." 

For  a  moment  I  looked  about  at  the  others  in  the 
room.  Had  it  been  an  accident,  after  all?  Perhaps, 
if  any  of  the  others  had  been  attacked,  one  might 
have  suspected  that  it  was.  But  they  had  not  been 
affected  at  all,  at  least  apparently.  Yet  there  could 
be  no  doubt  that  it  was  the  poisonous  muscarin  that 
had  affected  Mansfield. 

"Did  you  ever  see  anything  like  that?"  asked 
Kennedy,  suddenly,  holding  up  the  gilt  spangle 
which  he  had  found  on  the  closet  floor  near  the  wall 
safe. 

Though  no  one  said  a  word,  it  was  evident  that 
they  all  recognized  it.  Lewis  was  watching  Madeline 
closely.  But  she  betrayed  nothing  except  mild  sur- 
prise at  seeing  the  spangle  from  her  dress.  Had  it 
been  deliberately  placed  there,  it  flashed  over  me,  in 
order  to  compromise  Madeline  Hargrave  and  divert 
suspicion  from  some  one  else? 

I  turned  to  Mina.  Behind  the  defiance  of  her 
dark  eyes  I  felt  that  there  was  something  working. 
Kennedy  must  have  sensed  it  even  before  I  did,  for 
he  suddenly  bent  down  over  the  recording  needle 
and  the  ruled  paper  on  the  table. 

"This,"  he  shot  out,  "is  a  pneumograph  which 
shows  the  actual  intensity  of  the  emotions  by  record- 
ing their  effects  on  the  heart  and  lungs  together. 
The  truth  can  literally  be  tapped,  even  where  no 
confession  can  be  extracted.  A  moment's  glance  at 
this  line,  traced  here  by  each  of  you,  can  tell  the 
expert  more  than  words." 

"Then  it  was  a  mushroom  that  poisoned  Jack!" 

51 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

interrupted    Lewis,    suddenly.      "Some    poisonous 
Amanita  got  mixed  with  the  edible  mushrooms?" 

Kennedy  answered,  quickly,  without  taking  his 
eyes  off  the  line  the  needle  was  tracing: 

"No;  this  was  a  case  of  the  deliberate  use  of  the 
active  principle  itself,  muscarin — with  the  expecta- 
tion that  the  death,  if  the  cause  was  ever  discovered, 
could  easily  be  blamed  on  such  a  mushroom.  Some- 
how— there  were  many  chances — the  poison  was 
slipped  into  the  ramekin  Frangois  was  carefully 
preparing  for  Mansfield.  The  method  does  not 
interest  me  so  much  as  the  fact — " 

There  was  a  slight  noise  from  the  other  room  where 
Mansfield  lay.  Instantly  we  were  all  on  our  feet. 
Before  any  of  us  could  reach  the  door  Helen  Grey 
had  slipped  through  it. 

"Just  a  second,"  commanded  Kennedy,  extending 
the  sequin  toward  us  to  emphasize  what  he  was 
about  to  say.  "The  poisoning  and  the  robbery  were 
the  work  of  one  hand.  That  sequin  is  the  key  that 
has  unlocked  the  secret  which  my  pneumograph 
has  recorded.  Some  one  saw  that  robbery  com- 
mitted— knew  nothing  of  the  contemplated  poison- 
ing to  cover  it.  To  save  the  reputation  of  the  robber 
— at  any  cost — on  the  spur  of  the  moment  the  ruse 
of  placing  the  sequin  in  the  closet  occurred." 

Madeline  Hargrave  turned  to  Mina,  while  I  re- 
called Lewis's  remark  about  Mina's  stepping  on  the 
train  and  tearing  it.  The  defiance  in  her  black  eyes 
flashed  from  Madeline  to  Kennedy. 

"Yes,"  she  cried;   "I  did  it!    I—" 

As  quickly  the  defiance  had  faded.  Mina  Leitch 
had  fainted. 

52 


THE   TRUTH-DETECTOR 

"Some  water — quick!"  cried  Kennedy. 

I  sprang  through  the  door  into  Mansfield's  room. 
As  I  passed  I  caught  sight  of  Helen  Grey  supporting 
the  head  of  Mansfield — both  oblivious  to  actresses, 
diamonds,  everything  that  had  so  nearly  caused  a 
tragedy. 

"No,"  I  heard  Kennedy  say  to  Lewis  as  I  re- 
turned; "it  was  not  Mina.  The  person  she  shielded 
was  wildly  in  love  with  her,  insanely  jealous  of  Mans- 
field for  even  looking  at  her,  and  in  debt  so  hope- 
lessly in  Mansfield's  ventures  that  only  the  big 
diamond  could  save  him — Doctor  Murray  himself!" 
5 


Ill 

THE   SOUL- ANALYSIS 

"  TTERE'S  the  most  remarkable  appeal,"  observed 
ll  Kennedy,  one  morning,  as  he  tossed  over  to  me 
a  letter.    "What  do  you  make  of  that?"    It  read: 

MONTROSE,  CONN. 
MY  DEAR  PROFESSOR  KENNEDY: 

You  do  not  know  me,  but  I  have  heard  a  great  deal  about  you. 
Please,  I  beg  of  you,  do  not  disregard  this  letter.  At  least  try 
to  verify  the  appeal  I  am  making. 

I  am  here  at  the  Belleclaire  Sanatorium,  run  by  Dr.  Bolton 
Burr,  in  Montrose.  But  it  is  not  a  real  sanatorium.  It  is  really 
a  private  asylum. 

Let  me  tell  my  story  briefly.  After  my  baby  was  born  I 
devoted  myself  to  it.  But,  in  spite  of  everything,  it  died.  Mean- 
while my  husband  neglected  me  terribly.  After  the  baby's 
death  I  was  a  nervous  wreck,  and  I  came  up  here  to  rest. 

Now  I  find  I  am  being  held  here  as  an  insane  patient.  I  cannot 
get  out.  I  do  not  even  know  whether  this  letter  will  reach  you. 
But  the  chambermaid  here  has  told  me  she  will  post  it  for  me. 

I  am  ill  and  nervous — a  wreck,  but  not  insane,  although  they 
will  tell  you  that  the  twilight-sleep  treatment  affected  my  mind. 
But  what  is  happening  here  will  eventually  drive  me  insane  if 
some  one  does  not  come  to  my  rescue. 

Cannot  you  get  in  to  see  me  as  a  doctor  or  friend?    I  will 
leave  all  to  you  after  that. 
Yours  anxiously, 

JANET  (MRS.  ROGER)  CRANSTON. 
54 


THE    SOUL-ANALYSIS 

"What  do  you  make  of  it  yourself?"  I  returned, 
handing  back  the  letter.  "Are  you  going  to  take  it 
up?"  He  slowly  looked  over  the  letter  again. 

"Judging  by  the  handwriting,"  he  remarked, 
thoughtfully,  "I  should  say  that  the  writer  is  labor- 
ing under  keen  excitement — though  there  is  no 
evidence  of  insanity  on  the  face  of  it.  Yes ;  I  think 
I'll  take  up  the  case." 

"But  how  are  you  going  to  get  in?"  I  asked. 
"They'll  never  admit  you  willingly." 

Kennedy  pondered  a  minute.  "I'll  get  in,  all 
right,"  he  said,  at  length;  "come  on — I'm  going  to 
call  on  Roger  Cranston  first." 

"Roger  Cranston?"  I  repeated,  dumfounded. 
"Why,  he'll  never  help  you!  Ten  to  one  he's  in  on 
it." 

"We'll  have  to  take  a  chance,"  returned  Kennedy, 
hurrying  me  out  of  the  laboratory. 

Roger  Cranston  was  a  well-known  lawyer  and  man 
about  town.  We  found  him  in  his  office  on  lower 
Broadway.  He  was  young  and  distinguished-looking, 
which  probably  accounted  for  the  fact  that  his  office 
had  become  a  sort  of  fashionable  court  of  domestic 
relations. 

"I'm  a  friend  of  Dr.  Bolton  Burr,  of  Montrose," 
introduced  Kennedy.  Cranston  looked  at  him 
keenly,  but  Kennedy  was  a  good  actor.  "I  have 
been  studying  some  of  the  patients  at  the  sanatorium, 
and  I  have  seen  Mrs.  Cranston  there." 

"Indeed!"  responded  Cranston.  "I'm  all  broken 
up  by  it  myself." 

I  could  not  resist  thinking  that  he  took  it  very 
calmly,  however. 

55 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

"I  should  like  very  much  to  make  what  we  call  a 
psychanalysis  of  Mrs.  Cranston's  mental  condition," 
Kennedy  explained. 

"A  psychanalysis?"  repeated  Cranston. 

"Yes;  you  know  it  is  a  new  system.  In  the  field 
of  abnormal  psychology,  the  soul-analysis  is  of  first 
importance.  To-day,  this  study  is  of  the  greatest 
.help  in  neurology  and  psychiatry.  Only,  I  can't 
make  it  without  the  consent  of  the  natural  guardian 
of  the  patient.  Doctor  Burr  tells  me  that  you  will 
have  no  objection." 

Cranston  thoughtfully  studied  the  wall  opposite. 

"Well,"  he  returned,  slowly,  "they  tell  me  that 
without  treatment  she  will  soon  be  hopelessly  in- 
sane— perhaps  dangerously  so.  That  is  all  I  know. 
I  am  not  a  specialist.  If  Doctor  Burr — "  He 
paused. 

"If  you  can  give  me  just  a  card,"  urged  Kennedy, 
"that  is  all  Doctor  Burr  wishes." 

Cranston  wrote  hastily  on  the  back  of  one  of  his 
cards  what  Kennedy  dictated. 

Please  allow  Doctor  Kennedy  to  make  a  psychanalysis  of  my 
wife's  mental  condition. 

"You  will  let  me  know — if  there  is — any  hope?" 
he  asked. 

"As  soon  as  I  can,"  replied  Kennedy,  "I'll  let 
you  have  a  copy  of  my  report."  1 

Cranston  thanked  us  and  bowed  us  to  the  door 
suavely. 

"Well,"  I  remarked,  as  we  rode  down  in  the  ele- 
vator, "that  was  clever.  He  fell  for  it,  too.  You're 
an  artist.  Do  you  think  he  was  posing?" 

56 


THE    SOUL-ANALYSIS 

Kennedy  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

We  lost  no  time  in  getting  the  first  train  for  Mon- 
trose,  before  Cranston  had  time  to  reconsider  and 
call  up  Doctor  Burr. 

The  Belleclaire  Sanatorium  was  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  town.  It  was  an  old  stone  house,  rather  dingy, 
and  surrounded  by  a  high  stone  wall  surmounted  by 
sharp  pickets. 

Dr.  Bolton  Burr,  who  was  at  the  head  of  the  in- 
stitution, met  us  in  the  plainly  furnished  reception- 
room  which  also  served  as  his  office.  Through  a 
window  we  could  see  some  of  the  patients  walking 
or  sitting  about  on  a  small  stretch  of  scraggly  grass 
between  the  house  and  the  wall. 

Doctor  Burr  was  a  tall  and  commanding-looking 
man  with  a  Vandyke  beard,  and  one  would  instinc- 
tively have  picked  him  out  anywhere  as  a  physician. 

"I  believe  you  have  a  patient  here — Mrs.  Roger 
Cranston,"  began  Kennedy,  after  the  usual  formali- 
ties. Doctor  Burr  eyed  us  askance.  "I've  been 
asked  by  Mr.  Cranston  to  make  an  examination  of 
his  wife,"  pursued  Craig,  presenting  the  card  which 
he  had  obtained  from  Roger  Cranston. 

"H'm!"  mused  Doctor  Burr,  looking  quickly  from 
the  card  to  Kennedy  with  a  searching  glance. 

"I  wish  you  would  tell  me  something  of  the  case 
before  I  see  her,"  went  on  Kennedy,  with  absolute 
assurance. 

"Well,"  temporized  Doctor  Burr,  twirling  the 
card,  "Mrs.  Cranston  came  to  me  after  the  death  of 
her  child.  She  was  in  a  terrible  state.  But  we  are 
slowly  building  up  her  shattered  nerves  by  plain, 
simple  living  and  a  tonic." 
'  57 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

"Was  she  committed  by  her  husband?"  queried 
Kennedy,  unexpectedly. 

Whether  or  not  Doctor  Burr  felt  suspicious  of  us 
I  could  not  tell.  But  he  seemed  eager  to  justify 
himself. 

"I  have  the  papers  committing  her  to  my  care," 
he  said,  rising  and  opening  a  safe  in  the  corner. 

He  laid  before  us  a  document  in  which  appeared 
the  names  of  Roger  Cranston  and  Julia  Giles. 

"Who  is  this  Julia  Giles?"  asked  Kennedy,  after 
he  had  read  the  document. 

"One  of  our  nurses,"  returned  the  doctor.  "She 
has  had  Mrs.  Cranston  under  observation  ever  since 
she  arrived." 

"I  should  like  to  see  both  Miss  Giles  and  Mrs. 
Cranston,"  insisted  Kennedy.  "It  is  not  that  Mr. 
Cranston  is  in  any  way  dissatisfied  with  your  treat- 
ment, but  he  thought  that  perhaps  I  might  be  of 
some  assistance  to  you." 

Kennedy's  manner  was  ingratiating  but  firm, 
and  he  hurried  on,  lest  it  should  occur  to  Doctor 
Burr  to  call  up  Cranston.  The  doctor,  still  twirling 
the  card,  finally  led  us  through  the  wide  central  hall 
and  up  an  old-fashioned  winding  staircase  to  a  large 
room  on  the  second  floor. 

He  tapped  at  the  door,  which  was  opened,  dis- 
closing an  interior  tastefully  furnished. 

Doctor  Burr  introduced  us  to  Miss  Giles,  convey- 
ing the  impression,  which  Kennedy  had  already 
given,  that  he  was  a  specialist,  and  I  his  assistant. 

Janet  Cranston  was  a  young  and  also  remarkably 
beautiful  girl.  One  could  see  traces  of  sorrow  in  her 
face,  which  was  exceedingly,  though  not  unpleas- 

58 


THE    SOUL-ANALYSIS 

ingly,  pale.    The  restless  brilliancy  of  her  eyes  spoke 
of  some  physical,  if  not  psychical,  disorder. 

She  was  dressed  in  deep  mourning,  which  height- 
ened her  pallor  and  excited  a  feeling  of  mingled 
respect  and  interest.  Thick  brown  coils  of  chestnut 
hair  were  arranged  in  such  a  manner  as  to  give  an 
extremely  youthful  appearance  to  her  delicate  face. 
Her  emotions  were  expressed  by  the  constant  motion 
of  her  slender  fingers. 

Miss  Giles  was  a  striking  woman  of  an  entirely 
different  type.  She  seemed  to  be  exuberant  with 
health,  as  though  nursing  had  taught  her  not  merely 
how  to  take  care  of  others,  but  had  given  her  the 
secret  of  caring,  first  of  all,  for  herself. 

I  could  see,  as  Doctor  Burr  introduced  us  to  his 
patient,  that  Mrs.  Cranston  instantly  recognized 
Kennedy's  interest  in  her  case.  She  received  us  with 
a  graceful  courtesy,  but  she  betrayed  no  undue 
interest  that  might  excite  suspicion,  nor  was  there 
any  hint  given  of  the  note  of  appeal.  I  wondered 
whether  that  might  not  be  an  instance  of  the  cunning 
for  which  I  had  heard  that  the  insane  are  noted. 
She  showed  no  sign  of  insanity,  however. 

I  looked  about  curiously  to  see  if  there  were  evi- 
dences of  the  treatment  which  she  was  receiving.  On 
a  table  stood  a  bottle  and  a  glass,  as  well  as  a  teaspoon, 
and  I  recalled  the  doctor's  remark  about  the  tonic. 

"You  look  tired,  Mrs.  Cranston,"  remarked 
Kennedy,  thoughtfully.  "Why  not  rest  while  we 
are  here,  and  then  I  will  be  sure  my  visit  has  had  no 
ill  effects." 

"Thank  you,"  she  murmured,  and  I  was  much 
impressed  by  the  sweetness  of  her  voice. 

59 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

As  he  spoke,  Kennedy  arranged  the  pillows  on  a 
chaise  tongue  and  placed  her  on  it  with  her  head 
slightly  elevated.  Having  discussed  the  subject  of 
psychanalysis  with  Kennedy  before,  I  knew  that 
this  was  so  that  nothing  might  distract  her  from  the 
free  association  of  ideas. 

He  placed  himself  near  her  head,  and  motioned  to 
us  to  stand  farther  back  of  him.  where  she  could  not 
see  us. 

"Avoid  all  muscular  exertion  and  distraction," 
he  continued.  "I  want  you  to  concentrate  your 
attention  thoroughly.  Tell  me  anything  that  comes 
into  your  mind.  Tell  all  you  know  of  your  symp- 
toms. Concentrate,  and  repeat  all  you  think  of. 
Frankly  express  all  the  thoughts  that  you  have,  even 
though  they  may  be  painful  and  embarrassing." 

He  said  this  soothingly,  and  she  seemed  to  under- 
stand that  much  depended  upon  her  answers  and 
the  fact  of  not  forcing  her  ideas. 

"I  am  thinking  of  my  husband,"  Mrs.  Cranston 
began,  finally,  in  a  dreamy  tone. 

"What  of  him?"  suggested  Kennedy. 

"Of  how  the  baby — separated  us — and — "  She 
paused,  almost  in  tears. 

From  what  I  knew  of  the  method  of  psychanalysis, 
I  recalled  it  was  the  gaps  and  hesitations  which  were 
most  important  in  arriving  at  the  truth  regarding 
the  cause  of  her  trouble 

'Perhaps  it  was  my  fault;  perhaps  I  was  a  better 
mother  than  wife.  I  thought  I  was  doing  what  he 
would  want  me  to  do.  Too  late  I  see  my  mistake." 

It  was  easy  to  read  into  her  story  that  there  had 
been  other  women  in  his  life.  It  had  wounded  her 


THE    SOUL-ANALYSIS 

deeply.  Yet  it  was  equally  plain  that  she  still  loved 
him. 

"Go  on,"  urged  Kennedy,  gently. 

"Oh  yes,"  she  resumed,  dreamily;  "I  am  think- 
ing about  once,  when  I  left  him,  I  wandered  through 
the  country.  I  remember  little  except  that  it  was 
the  country  through  which  we  had  passed  on  an 
automobile  trip  on  our  honeymoon.  Once  I  thought 
I  saw  him,  and  I  tried  to  get  to  him.  I  longed  for 
him,  but  each  time,  when  I  almost  reached  him,  he 
would  disappear.  I  seemed  to  be  so  deserted  and 
alone.  I  tried  to  call  him,  but  my  tongue  refused 
to  say  his  name.  It  must  have  been  hours  that  I 
wandered  about,  for  I  recall  nothing  after  that  until 
I  was  found,  disheveled  and  exhausted." 

She  paused  and  closed  her  eyes,  while  I  could  see 
that  Kennedy  considered  this  gap  very  important. 

"Don't  stop,"  persisted  Kennedy. 

"Once  we  quarreled  over  one  of  his  clients  who 
was  suing  for  a  divorce.  I  thought  he  was  devoting 
too  much  time  and  attention  to  her.  While  there 
might  not  have  been  anything  wrong,  still  I  was 
afraid.  In  my  anger  and  anxiety  I  accused  him. 
He  retorted  by  slamming  the  door,  and  I  did  not 
see  him  for  two  or  three  days.  I  realized  my  nervous 
condition,  and  one  day  a  mutual  friend  of  ours  in- 
troduced me  to  Doctor  Burr  and  advised  me  to  take 
a  rest-cure  at  his  sanatorium.  By  this  time  Roger 
and  I  were  on  speaking-terms  again.  But  the  death 
of  the  baby  and  the  quarrel  left  me  still  as  nervous 
as  before.  He  seemed  anxious  to  have  me  do  some- 
thing, and  so  I  came  here." 

' '  Do  you  remember  anything  that  happened  after 

61 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

that?"  asked  Craig,  for  the  first  time  asking  a  mildly 
leading  question. 

"Yes;  I  recall  everything  that  happened  when  I 
came  here,"  she  went  on.  "Roger  came  up  with  me 
to  complete  the  necessary  arrangements.  We  were 
met  at  the  station  by  Doctor  Burr  and  this  woman 
who  has  since  been  my  nurse  and  companion.  On 
the  way  up  from  the  station  to  the  sanatorium 
Doctor  Burr  was  very  considerate  of  me,  and  I 
noticed  that  my  husband  seemed  interested  in  Miss 
Giles  and  the  care  she  was  to  take  of  me." 

Kennedy  flashed  a  glance  at  me  from  a  note-book 
in  which  he  was  apparently  busily  engaged  in  jotting 
down  her  answers.  I  did  not  know  just  what  inter- 
pretation to  put  on  it,  but  surmised  that  it  meant 
that  he  had  struck  what  the  new  psychologists  call  a 
"complex,"  in  the  entrance  of  Miss  Giles  into  the  case. 

Before  we  realized  it.  there  came  a  sudden  out- 
burst of  feeling. 

"And  now — they  are  keeping  me  here  by  force!" 
she  cried. 

Doctor  Burr  looked  at  us  significantly,  as  much  as 
to  say,  "Just  what  might  be  expected,  you  see." 
Kennedy  nodded,  but  made  no  effort  to  stop  Mrs. 
Cranston. 

"They  have  told  Roger  that  I  am  insane,  and  I 
know  he  must  believe  it  or  he  would  not  leave  me 
here.  But  their  real  motive,  I  can  guess,  is  mercen- 
ary. I  can't  complain  about  my  treatment  here — 
it  costs  enough." 

By  this  time  she  was  sitting  bolt  upright,  staring 
straight  ahead  as  though  amazed  at  her  own  bold- 
ness in  speaking  so  frankly  before  them. 

62 


THE   SOUL-ANALYSIS 

"I  feel  all  right  at  times — then — it  is  as  though  I 
had  a  paralysis  of  the  body,  but  not  of  the  mind — 
not  of  the  mind,"  she  repeated,  tensely.  There  was 
a  frightened  look  on  her  face,  and  her  voice  was  now 
wildly  appealing. 

What  would  have  followed  I  cannot  guess,  for 
at  that  instant  there  came  a  noise  outside  from 
another  of  the  rooms  as  though  pandemonium  had 
broken  loose.  By  the  shouting  and  confusion,  one 
might  easily  have  wondered  whether  keepers  and 
lunatics  might  not  have  exchanged  places. 

"It  is  just  one  of  the  patients  who  has  escaped 
from  his  room,"  explained  Doctor  Burr;  "nothing 
to  be  alarmed  about.  We'll  soon  have  him  quieted." 

Doctor  Burr  hurried  out  into  the  corridor  while 
Miss  Giles  was  looking  out  of  the  door. 

Quickly  Kennedy  reached  over  and  abstracted 
several  drops  from  a  bottle  of  tonic  on  the  table, 
pouring  it  into  his  handkerchief,  which  he  rolled  up 
tightly  and  stuffed  into  his  pocket.  Mrs.  Cranston 
watched  him  pleadingly,  and  clasped  her  hands  in 
mute  appeal,  with  a  hasty  glance  at  Miss  Giles. 

Kennedy  said  nothing,  either,  but  rapidly  folded 
up  a  page  of  the  note-book  on  which  he  had  been 
writing  and  shoved  it  into  Mrs.  Cranston's  hand, 
together  with  something  he  had  taken  from  his 
pocket.  She  understood,  and  quickly  placed  it  in 
her  corsage. 

"Read  it — when  you  are  absolutely  alone,"  he 
whispered,  just  as  Miss  Giles  shut  the  door  and 
turned  to  us. 

The  excitement  subsided  almost  as  quickly  as  it 
had  arisen,  but  it  had  been  sufficient  to  put  a  stop 

63 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

to  any  further  study  of  the  case  along  those  lines. 
Miss  Giles's  keen  eyes  missed  no  action  or  move- 
ment of  her  patient. 

Doctor  Burr  returned  shortly.  It  was  evident 
from  his  manner  that  he  wished  to  have  the  visit 
terminated,  and  Kennedy  seemed  quite  willing  to 
take  the  hint.  He  thanked  Mrs.  Cranston,  and  we 
withdrew  quietly,  after  bidding  her  good-by  in  a 
manner  as  reassuring  as  we  could  make  it  under  the 
circumstances. 

"You  see,"  remarked  Doctor  Burr,  as  we  walked 
down  the  hall,  "she  is  quite  unstrung  still.  Mr. 
Cranston  comes  up  here  once  in  a  while,  and  we 
notice  that  after  these  visits  she  is,  if  anything, 
worse." 

Down  the  hall  a  door  had  been  left  open,  and  we 
could  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  patient  rolled  in  a  blanket, 
while  two  nurses  forced  something  down  his  throat. 
Doctor  Burr  hastily  closed  the  door  as  we  passed. 

"That  is  the  condition  Mrs.  Cranston  might  have 
got  into  if  she  had  not  come  to  us  when  she  did," 
he  said.  "As  it  is,  she  is  never  violent  and  is  one  of 
the  most  tractable  patients  we  have." 

We  left  shortly,  without  finding  out  whether 
Doctor  Burr  suspected  us  of  anything  or  not.  As  we 
made  our  way  back  to  the  city,  I  could  not  help  the 
feeling  of  depression  such  as  Poe  mentioned  at  seeing 
the  private  madhouse  in  France. 

"That  glimpse  we  had  into  the  other  room  almost 
makes  one  recall  the  soothing  system  of  Doctor 
Maillard.  Is  Doctor  Burr's  system  better?"  I  asked. 

"A  good  deal  of  what  we  used  to  think  and  practise 
is  out  of  date  now,"  returned  Kennedy.  "I  think 

64 


THE    SOUL-ANALYSIS 

you  are  already  familiar  with  the  theory  of  dreams 
that  has  been  developed  by  Dr.  Sigmund  Freud,  of 
Vienna.  But  perhaps  you  are  not  aware  of  the  fact 
that  Freud's  contribution  to  the  study  of  insanity 
is  of  even  greater  scientific  value  than  his  dream 
theories  taken  by  themselves. 

"Hers,  I  feel  sure  now,  is  what  is  known  as  one  of 
the  so-called  'border-line  cases,'"  he  continued. 
"It  is  clearly  a  case  of  hysteria — not  the  hysteria  one 
hears  spoken  of  commonly,  but  the  condition  which 
scientists  know  as  such.  We  trace  the  impulses  from 
which  hysterical  conditions  arise,  penetrate  the  dis- 
guises which  these  repressed  impulses  or  wishes  must 
assume  in  order  to  appear  in  the  consciousness.  Such 
transformed  impulses  are  found  in  normal  people, 
too,  sometimes.  The  hysteric  suffers  mostly  from 
reminiscences  which,  paradoxically,  may  be  com- 
pletely forgotten. 

"Obsessions  and  phobias  have  their  origin,  accord- 
ing to  Freud,  in  sexual  life.  The  obsession  repre- 
sents a  compensation  or  substitute  for  an  unbearable 
sexual  idea  and  takes  its  place  in  consciousness.  In 
normal  sexual  life,  no  neurosis  is  possible,  say  the 
Freudists.  Sex  is  the  strongest  impulse,  yet  subject 
to  the  greatest  repression,  and  hence  the  weakest 
point  of  our  cultural  development.  Hysteria  arises 
through  the  conflict  between  libido  and  sex-repres- 
sion. Often  sex-wishes  may  be  consciously  rejected 
but  unconsciously  accepted.  So  when  they  are 
understood  every  insane  utterance  has  a  reason. 
There  is  really  method  in  madness. 

"When  hysteria  in  a  wife  gains  her  the  attention 
of  an  otherwise  inattentive  husband  it  fills,  from 

65 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

the  standpoint  of  her  deeper  longing,  an  important 
place,  and,  in  a  sense,  may  be  said  to  be  desirable. 
The  great  point  about  the  psychanalytic  method,  as 
discovered  by  Breuer  and  Freud,  is  that  certain  symp- 
toms of  hysteria  disappear  when  the  hidden  causes 
are  brought  to  light  and  the  repressed  desires  are 
gratified." 

"How  does  that  apply  to  Mrs.  Cranston?"  I 
queried. 

"Mrs.  Cranston,"  he  replied,  "is  suffering  from 
what  the  psychanalysts  call  a  psychic  trauma — a 
soul-wound,  as  it  were.  It  is  the  neglect,  in  this  case, 
of  her  husband,  whom  she  deeply  loves.  That,  in 
itself,  is  sufficient  to  explain  her  experience  wander- 
ing through  the  country.  It  was  the  region  which 
she  associated  with  her  first  love-affair,  as  she  told 
us.  The  wave  of  recollection  that  swept  over  her 
engulfed  her  mind.  In  other  words,  reason  could  no 
longer  dominate  the  cravings  for  a  love  so  long  sup- 
pressed. Then,  when  she  saw,  or  imagined  she  saw, 
one  who  looked  like  her  lover  the  strain  was  too 
great." 

It  was  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  when  we 
reached  the  laboratory.  Kennedy  at  once  set  to 
work  studying  the  drops  of  tonic  which  had  been 
absorbed  in  the  handkerchief.  As  Kennedy  worked, 
I  began  thinking  over  again  of  what  we  had  seen  at 
the  Belleclaire  Sanatorium.  Somehow  or  other,  I 
could  not  get  out  of  my  mind  the  recollection  of  the 
man  rolled  in  the  blanket  and  trussed  up  as  helpless 
as  a  mummy.  I  wondered  whether  that  alone  was 
sufficient  to  account  for  the  quickness  with  which 
he  had  been  pacified.  Then  I  recalled  Mrs.  Cran- 

66 


THE    SOUL-ANALYSIS 

ston's  remark  about  her  mental  alertness  and 
physical  weakness.  Had  it  anything  to  do  with 
the  "tonic"? 

"Suppose,  while  I  am  waiting,"  I  finally  suggested 
to  Craig,  ' '  I  try  to  find  out  what  Cranston  does  with 
his  time  since  his  wife  has  been  shut  off  from  the 
world." 

"That's  a  very  good  idea,"  acquiesced  Kennedy. 
"Don't  take  too  long,  however,  for  I  may  strike 
something  important  here  any  minute." 

After  several  inquiries  over  the  telephone,  I  found 
that  since  his  wife  had  been  in  Montrose  Cranston 
had  closed  his  apartment  and  was  living  at  one  of 
his  clubs.  Having  two  or  three  friends  who  were 
members,  I  did  not  hesitate  to  drop  around. 

Unfortunately,  none  of  my  friends  happened  to 
be  there,  and  I  was  forced,  finally,  to  ask  for  Cranston 
himself,  although  all  that  I  really  wanted  to  know 
was  whether  he  was  there  or  not.  One  of  the  clerks 
told  me  that  he  had  been  in,  but  had  left  in  a  taxicab 
only  a  short  time  before. 

As  there  was  a  cab-stand  outside  the  club,  I  de- 
termined to  make  an  inquiry  and  perhaps  discover 
the  driver  who  had  had  him.  The  starter  knew 
him,  and  when  I  said  that  it  was  very  important 
business  on  which  I  wanted  to  see  him  he  motioned 
to  a  driver  who  had  just  pulled  up. 

A  chance  for  another  fare  and  a  generous  tip  were 
all  that  was  necessary  to  induce  him  to  drive  me  to 
the  Trocadero,  a  fashionable  restaurant  and  cabaret, 
where  he  had  taken  Cranston  a  short  time  before. 
It  was  crowded  when  I  entered,  and,  avoiding  the 
headwaiter,  I  stood  by  the  door  a  few  minutes  and 

67 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

looked  over  the  brilliant  and  gay  throng.  Finally, 
I  managed  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Cranston's  head  at 
a  table  in  a  far  corner.  As  I  made  my  way  down  the 
line  of  tables,  I  was  genuinely  amazed  to  see  that  he 
was  with  a  woman.  It  was  Julia  Giles ! 

She  must  have  come  down  on  the  next  train  aftei 
we  did,  but,  at  any  rate,  it  looked  as  though  she  had 
lost  no  time  in  seeking  out  Cranston  after  our  visit. 
I  took  a  seat  at  a  table  next  them. 

They  were  talking  about  Kennedy,  and,  during  q 
lull  in  the  music,  I  overheard  him  asking  her  just 
what  Craig  had  done. 

"It  was  certainly  very  clever  in  him  to  play  both 
you  and  Doctor  Burr  the  way  he  did.  He  told  Doctor 
Burr  that  you  had  sent  him,  and  told  you  that  Doc- 
tor Burr  had  sent  him.  By  whom  do  you  suppose 
he  really  was  sent?" 

"Could  it  have  been  my  wife?" 

"It  must  have  been,  but  how  she  did  it  is  more 
than  I  can  imagine." 

"How  is  she,  anyway?"  he  asked. 

"Sometimes  she  seems  to  be  getting  along  finely, 
and  then,  other  days,  I  feel  quite  discouraged  about 
her.  Her  case  is  very  obstinate." 

"Perhaps  I  had  better  go  out  and  see  Burr,"  he 
considered.  "It  is  early  in  the  evening.  I'll  drive 
you  out  in  my  car.  I'll  stay  at  the  sanatorium  to- 
night, and  then,  perhaps,  I'll  know  a  little  better 
what  we  can  do." 

It  was  his  tone  rather  than  his  words  which  gave 
me  the  impression  that  he  was  more  interested  in 
being  with  Miss  Giles  than  with  Mrs.  Cranston.  I 
wondered  whether  it  was  a  plot  of  Cranston's  and 

68 


THE    SOUL-ANALYSIS 

Miss  Giles's.  Had  he  been  posing  before  Kennedy, 
and  were  they  really  trying  to  put  Mrs.  Cranston 
out  of  the  way? 

As  the  music  started  up  again,  I  heard  her  say, 
"Can't  we  have  just  one  more  dance?" 

A  moment  later  they  were  lost  in  the  gay  whirl 
on  the  dancing-floor.  They  made  a  handsome  couple, 
and  it  was  evident  that  it  was  not  the  first  time  that 
they  had  dined  and  danced  together.  The  music 
ceased,  and  they  returned  to  their  places  reluctantly, 
while  Cranston  telephoned  for  his  car  to  be  brought 
around  to  the  cabaret. 

I  hastened  back  to  the  laboratory  to  inform  Craig 
what  I  had  seen.  As  I  told  my  story  he  looked  up  at 
me  with  a  sudden  flash  of  comprehension. 

"I  am  glad  to  know  where  they  will  all  be  to- 
night," he  said.  "Some  one  has  been  giving  her 
henbane — hyoscyamin.  I  have  just  discovered  it  in 
the  tonic." 

"What's  henbane?"  I  asked. 

"It  is  a  drug  derived  from  the  hyoscyamus  plant, 
much  like  belladonna,  though  more  distinctly  seda- 
tive. It  is  a  hypnotic  used  often  in  mania  and  mental 
excitement.  The  feeling  which  Mrs.  Cranston  de- 
scribed is  one  of  its  effects.  You  recall  the  brightness 
of  her  eyes?  That  is  one  of  the  effects  of  the  my- 
driatic  alkaloids,  of  which  this  is  one.  The  ancients 
were  familiar  with  several  of  its  peculiar  properties, 
as  they  knew  of  the  closely  allied  poison  hemlock. 

"Many  of  the  text-books  at  the  present  time  fail 
to  say  anything  about  the  remarkable  effect  produced 
by  large  doses  of  this  terrible  alkaloid.  This  effect 
can  be  described  technically  so  as  to  be  intelligible, 

6  69 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

but  no  description  can  convey,  even  approximately, 
the  terrible  sensation  produced  in  many  insane 
patients  by  large  doses.  In  a  general  way,  it  is  the 
condition  of  paralysis  of  the  body  without  the  cor- 
responding paralysis  of  the  mind." 

"And  it's  this  stuff  that  somebody  has  been 
putting  into  her  tonic?"  I  asked,  startled.  "Do 
you  suppose  that  is  part  of  Burr's  system,  or  did 
Miss  Giles  lighten  her  work  by  putting  it  into  the 
tonic?" 

Kennedy  did  not  betray  his  suspicion,  but  went 
on  describing  the  drug  which  was  having  such  a 
serious  effect  on  Mrs.  Cranston. 

"The  victim  lies  in  an  absolutely  helpless  condi- 
tion sometimes  with  his  muscles  so  completely  par- 
alyzed that  he  cannot  so  much  as  move  a  finger, 
cannot  close  his  lips  or  move  his  tongue  to  moisten 
them.  This  feeling  of  helplessness  is  usually  followed 
by  unconsciousness  and  then  by  a  period  of  depres- 
sion. The  combined  feeling  of  helplessness  and  de- 
pression is  absolutely  unlike  any  other  feeling  imagin- 
able, if  I  may  judge  from  the  accounts  of  those  who 
have  experienced  it.  Other  sensations,  such  as  pain, 
may  be  judged,  in  a  measure,  by  comparison  with 
other  painful  sensations,  but  the  sensation  produced 
by  hyoscyamin  in  large  doses  seems  to  have  no  basis 
for  comparison.  There  is  no  kindred  feeling.  Prac- 
tically every  institution  for  the  insane  used  it  a  few 
years  ago  for  controlling  patients,  but  now  better 
methods  have  been  devised." 

"The  more  I  think  of  what  I  saw  at  the  Troca- 
dero,"  I  remarked,  "the  more  I  wonder  if  Miss 
Giles  has  been  seeking  to  win  Cranston  herself." 

70 


THE    SOUL-ANALYSIS 

"In  large -enough  doses  and  repeated  often 
enough,"  continued  Kennedy,  "I  suppose  the  toxic 
effect  of  the  drug  might  be  to  produce  insanity.  At 
any  rate,  if  we  are  going  to  do  anything,  it  might 
better  be  done  at  once.  They  are  all  out  there 
now.  If  we  act  to  -  night,  surely  we  shall  have 
the  best  chance  of  making  the  guilty  person  betray 
himself." 

Kennedy  telephoned  for  a  fast  touring-car,  and 
in  half  an  hour,  while  he  gathered  some  apparatus 
together,  the  car  was  before  the  door.  In  it  he  placed 
a  couple  of  light  silk-rope  ladders,  some  common 
wooden  wedges,  and  an  instrument  which  resembled 
a  surveyor's  transit  with  two  conical  horns  sticking 
out  at  the  ends. 

We  made  the  trip  out  of  New  York  and  up  the 
Boston  post-road,  following  the  route  which  Cran- 
ston and  Miss  Giles  must  have  taken  some  hours 
before  us.  In  the  town  of  Montrose,  Kennedy 
stopped  only  long  enough  to  get  a  bite  to  eat  and  to 
study  up  in  the  roads  in  the  vicinity. 

It  was  long  after  midnight  when  we  struck  up 
into  the  country.  The  night  was  very  dark,  thick, 
and  foggy.  With  the  engine  running  as  muffled  as 
possible  and  the  lights  dimmed,  Kennedy  quietly 
jammed  on  the  brakes  as  we  pulled  up  along  the 
side  of  the  road. 

A  few  rods  farther  ahead  I  could  make  out  the 
Belleclaire  Sanatorium  surrounded  by  its  picketed 
stone  wall.  Not  a  light  was  visible  in  any  of  the 
windows. 

"Now  that  we're  here,"  I  whispered,  "what  can 
we  do?" 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

"You  remember  the  paper  I  gave  Mrs.  Cranston 
when  the  excitement  in  the  hall  broke  loose?" 

"Yes,"  I  nodded,  as  we  moved  over  under  the 
shadow  of  the  wall. 

"I  wrote  on  a  sheet  from  my  note-book,"  said 
Kennedy,  "and  told  her  to  be  ready  when  she  heard 
a  pebble  strike  the  window;  and  I  gave  her  a  piece 
of  string  to  let  down  to  the  ground." 

Kennedy  threw  the  silk  ladder  up  until  it  caught 
on  one  of  the  pickets;  then,  with  the  other  ladder 
and  the  wedges,  he  reached  the  top  of  the  wall,  fol- 
lowed by  me.  We  pulled  the  first  ladder  up  as  we 
clung  to  the  pickets,  and  let  it  down  again  inside. 
Noiselessly  we  crossed  the  lawn. 

Above  was  Mrs.  Cranston's  window.  Craig 
picked  up  some  bits  of  broken  stone  from  a  walk 
about  the  house  and  threw  them  gently  against  the 
pane.  Then  we  drew  back  into  the  shadow  of  the 
house,  lest  any  prying  eyes  might  discover  us.  In 
a  few  minutes  the  window  on  the  second  floor  was 
stealthily  opened.  The  muffled  figure  of  Mrs. 
Cranston  appeared  in  the  dim  light;  then  a  piece 
of  string  was  lowered. 

To  it  Kennedy  attached  a  light  silk  ladder  and 
motioned  in  pantomime  for  her  to  draw  it  up.  It 
took  her  some  time  to  fasten  the  ladder  to  one  of 
the  heavy  pieces  of  furniture  in  the  room.  Swaying 
from  side  to  side,  but  clinging  with  frantic  despera- 
tion to  the  ladder  while  we  did  our  best  to  steady  it, 
she  managed  to  reach  the  ground.  She  turned  from 
the  building  with  a  shudder,  and  whispered  : 

This  terrible  place !    How  can  I  ever  thank  you 
for  getting  me  out  of  it?" 

72 


THE    SOUL-ANALYSIS 

Kennedy  did  not  pause  long  enough  to  say  a  word, 
but  hurried  her  across  to  the  final  barrier,  the  wall. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  shout  of  alarm  from  the 
front  of  the  house  under  the  columns.  It  was  the 
night  watchman,  who  had  discovered  us. 

Instantly  Kennedy  seized  a  chair  from  a  little 
summer-house. 

"Quick,  Walter,"  he  cried,  "over  the  wall  with 
Mrs.  Cranston,  while  I  hold  him!  Then  throw  the 
ladder  back  on  this  side.  I'll  join  you  in  a  moment, 
as  soon  as  you  get  her  safely  over." 

A  chair  is  only  an  indifferent  club,  if  that  is  all  one 
can  think  of  using  it  for.  Kennedy  ran  squarely  at 
the  watchman,  holding  it  out  straight  before  him. 
Only  once  did  I  cast  a  hasty  glance  back.  There 
was  the  man  pinned  to  the  wall  by  the  chair,  with 
Kennedy  at  the  other  end  of  it  and  safely  out  of 
reach. 

Mrs.  Cranston  and  I  managed  to  scramble  over 
the  wall,  although  she  tore  her  dress  on  the  pickets 
before  we  reached  the  other  side.  I  hustled  her  into 
the  car  and  made  everything  ready  to  start.  It  was 
only  a  couple  of  minutes  after  I  threw  the  ladder 
back  before  Craig  rejoined  us. 

"How  did  you  get  away  from  the  watchman?"  I 
demanded,  breathlessly,  as  we  shot  away. 

"I  forced  him  back  with  the  chair  into  the  hall  and 
slammed  the  door.  Then  I  jammed  a  wedge  under 
it,"  he  chuckled.  "That  will  hold  it  better  than 
any  lock.  Every  push  will  jam  it  tighter." 

Above  the  hubbub,  inside  now,  we  could  hear  a 
loud  gong  sounding  insistently.  All  about  were 
lights  flashing  up  at  the  windows  and  moving  through 

73 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

the  passageways.  Shouts  came  from  the  back  of  the 
house  as  a  door  was  finally  opened  there.  But  we 
were  off  now,  with  a  good  start. 

I  could  imagine  the  frantic  telephoning  that  was 
going  on  in  the  sanatorium.  And  I  knew  that  the 
local  police  of  Montrose  and  every  other  town  about 
us  were  being  informed  of  the  escape.  They  were 
required  by  the  law  to  render  all  possible  assistance, 
and,  as  the  country  boasted  several  institutions  quite 
on  a  par  with  Belleclaire,  an  attempt  at  an  escape 
was  not  an  unusual  occurrence. 

The  post-road  by  which  we  had  come  was  there- 
fore impossible,  and  Kennedy  swung  up  into  the 
country,  in  the  hope  of  throwing  off  pursuit  long 
enough  to  give  us  a  better  chance. 

"Take  the  wheel,  Walter,"  he  muttered.  "I'll 
tell  you  what  turns  to  make.  We  must  get  to  the 
State  line  of  New  York  without  being  stopped.  We 
can  beat  almost  any  car.  But  that  is  not  enough.  A 
telephone  message  ahead  may  stop  us,  unless  we 
can  keep  from  being  seen/' 

I  took  the  wheel,  and  did  not  stop  the  car  as 
Kennedy  climbed  over  the  seat.  In  the  back  of  the 
car,  where  Mrs.  Cranston  was  sitting,  he  hastily 
adjusted  the  peculiar  apparatus. 

"Sounds  at  night  are  very  hard  to  locate,"  he 
explained.  "Up  this  side  road,  Walter;  there  is 
some  one  coming  ahead  of  us." 

I  turned  and  shot  up  the  detour,  stopping  in  the 
shadow  of  some  trees,  where  we  switched  off  every 
light  and  shut  down  the  engine.  Kennedy  continued 
to  watch  the  instrument  before  him. 

"What  is  it?"  I  whispered. 

74 


THE    SOUL-ANALYSIS 

"A  phonometer,"  he  replied.  "It  was  invented 
to  measure  the  intensity  of  sound.  But  it  is  much 
more  valuable  as  an  instrument  that  tells  with  pre- 
cision from  what  direction  a  sound  comes.  It  needs 
only  a  small  dry  battery  and  can  be  carried  around 
easily.  The  sound  enters  the  two  horns  of  the  pho- 
nometer, is  focused  at  the  neck,  and  strikes  on  a  del- 
icate diaphragm,  behind  which  is  a  needle.  The 
diaphragm  vibrates  and  the  needle  moves.  The 
louder  the  sound  the  greater  the  movement  of  this 
needle. 

"At  this  end,  where  it  looks  as  though  I  were  sight- 
ing like  a  surveyor,  I  am  gazing  into  a  lens,  with  a 
tiny  electric  bulb  close  to  my  eye.  The  light  of  this 
bulb  is  reflected  in  a  mirror  which  is  moved  by  the 
moving  needle.  When  the  sound  is  loudest  the  two 
horns  are  at  right  angles  to  the  direction  whence  it 
comes.  So  it  is  only  necessary  to  twist  the  phonom- 
eter about  on  its  pivot  until  the  sound  is  received 
most  loudly  in  the  horns  and  the  band  of  light  is 
greatest.  I  know  then  that  the  horns  are  at  right 
angles  to  the  direction  from  which  the  sound  pro- 
ceeds, and  that,  as  I  lift  my  head,  I  am  looking 
straight  toward  the  source  of  the  sound.  I  can  tell 
its  direction  to  a  few  degrees." 

I  looked  through  it  myself  to  see  how  sound  was 
visualized  by  light. 

"Hush!"  cautioned  Kennedy. 

Down  on  the  main  road  we  could  see  a  car  pass 
along  slowly  in  the  direction  of  Montrose,  from  which 
we  had  come.  Without  the  phonometer  to  warn  us, 
it  must  inevitably  have  met  us  and  blocked  our 
escape  over  the  road  ahead. 

75 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

That  danger  passed,  on  we  sped.  Five  minutes, 
I  calculated,  and  we  should  cross  the  State  line  to 
New  York  and  safety. 

We  had  been  going  along  nicely  when,  "Bang!" 
came  a  loud  report  back  of  us. 

"Confound  it!"  muttered  Kennedy;  "a  blowout 
always  when  you  least  expect  it." 

We  climbed  out  of  the  car  and  had  the  shoe  off 
in  short  order. 

"Look!"  cried  Janet  Cranston,  in  a  frightened 
voice,  from  the  back  of  the  car. 

The  light  of  the  phonometer  had  flashed  up.  A 
car  was  following  us. 

"There's  just  one  chance!"  cried  Kennedy,  spring- 
ing to  the  wheel.  "We  might  make  it  on  the  rim." 

Banging  and  pounding,  we  forged  ahead,  straining 
our  eyes  to  watch  the  road,  the  distance,  the  time, 
and  the  phonometer  all  at  once. 

It  was  no  use.  A  big  gray  roadster  was  over- 
taking us.  The  driver  crowded  us  over  to  the  very- 
edge  of  the  road,  then  shot  ahead,  and,  where  the 
road  narrowed  down,  deliberately  pulled  up  across 
the  road  in  such  a  way  that  we  had  to  run  into  him 
or  stop. 

Quickly  Craig's  automatic  gleamed  in  the  dim 
beams  from  the  side  lights. 

"Just  a  minute,"  cautioned  a  voice.  "It  was  a 
plot  against  me,  quite  as  much  as  it  was  against  her 
— the  nurse  to  lead  me  on,  while  the  doctor  got  a 
rich  patient.  I  suspected  all  was  not  right.  That's 
why  I  gave  you  the  card.  I  knew  you  didn't  come 
from  Burr.  Then,  when  I  heard  nothing  from  you, 
I  let  the  Giles  woman  think  I  was  coming  to  Montrose 


THE    SOUL-ANALYSIS 

to  be  with  her.  But,  really,  I  wanted  to  beat  that 
fake  asylum — " 

Two  piercing  headlights  shone  down  the  road 
back  of  us.  We  waited  a  moment  until  they,  too, 
came  to  a  stop. 

"Here  they  are!"  shouted  the  voice  of  a  man,  as 
he  jumped  out,  followed  by  a  woman. 

Kennedy  stepped  forward,  waving  his  automatic 
menacingly. 

"You  are  under  arrest  for  conspiracy — both  of 
you!"  he  cried,  as  we  recognized  Doctor  Burr  and 
Miss  Giles. 

A  little  cry  behind  me  startled  me,  and  I  turned. 
Janet  Cranston  had  flung  herself  into  the  arms  of  the 
only  person  who  could  heal  her  wounded  soul. 


IV 

THE   MYSTIC   POISONER 

"IT'S  almost  as  though  he  had  been  struck  down 
1  by  a  spirit  hand,  Kennedy." 

Grady,  the  house  detective  of  the  Prince  Edward 
Charles  Hotel,  had  routed  us  out  of  bed  in  the  middle 
of  the  night  with  a  hurried  call  for  help,  and  now 
met  us  in  the  lobby  of  the  fashionable  hostelry. 
All  that  he  had  said  over  the  wire  was  that  there 
had  been  a  murder — "an  Englishman,  a  Captain 
Shirley." 

"Why,"  exclaimed  Grady,  lowering  his  voice  as 
he  led  us  through  the  lobby,  "it's  the  most  mys- 
terious thing,  I  think,  that  I've  ever  seen!" 

"In  what  way?"  prompted  Kennedy. 

"Well,"  continued  Grady,  "it  must  have  been 
just  a  bit  after  midnight  that  one  of  the  elevator- 
boys  heard  what  sounded  like  a  muffled  report  in  a 
room  on  the  tenth  floor.  There  were  other  employ- 
ees and  some  guests  about  at  the  time,  and  it  was 
only  a  matter  of  seconds  before  they  were  on  the 
spot.  Finally,  the  sound  was  located  as  having  come 
probably  from  Captain  Shirley's  room.  But  the 
door  was  locked — on  the  inside.  There  was  no 
response,  although  some  one  had  seen  him  ride  up 
in  the  elevator  scarcely  five  minutes  before.  By 

78 


THE    MYSTIC    POISONER 

that  time  they  had  sent  for  me.  We  broke  in. 
There  was  Shirley,  alone,  fully  dressed,  lying  on  the 
floor  before  a  writing-table.  His  face  was  horribly 
set,  as  though  he  had  perhaps  seen  something  that 
frightened  and  haunted  him — though  I  suppose  it 
might  have  been  the  pain  that  did  it.  I  think  he 
must  have  heard  something,  jumped  from  the  chair, 
perhaps  in  fear,  then  have  fallen  down  on  the  floor 
almost  immediately. 

"We  hurried  over  to  him.  He  was  still  alive,  but 
could  not  speak.  I  turned  him  over,  tried  to  rouse 
him  and  make  him  comfortable.  It  was  only  then 
that  I  saw  that  he  was  really  conscious.  But  it 
seemed  as  if  his  tongue  and  most  of  his  muscles  were 
paralyzed.  Somehow  he  managed  to  convey  to  us 
the  idea  that  it  was  his  heart  that  troubled  him 
most. 

"Really,  at  first  I  thought  it  was  a  case  of  suicide. 
But  there  was  no  sign  of  a  weapon  about  and  not  a 
trace  of  poison — no  glass,  no  packet.  There  was  no 
wound  on  him,  either — except  a  few  slight  cuts  and 
scratches  on  his  face  and  hands.  But  none  of  them 
looked  to  be  serious.  And  yet,  before  we  could  get 
the  house  physician  up  to  him  he  was  dead." 

"And  with  not  a  word?"  queried  Kennedy. 

"That's  the  strangest  part  of  it.  No;  not  a  word 
spoken.  But  as  he  lay  there,  even  in  spite  of  his 
paralyzed  muscles,  he  was  just  able  to  motion  with 
his  hands.  I  thought  he  wanted  to  write,  and  gave 
him  a  pencil  and  a  piece  of  paper.  He  clutched  at 
them,  but  here  is  all  he  was  able  to  do." 

Grady  drew  from  his  pocket  a  piece  of  paper  and 
handed  it  to  us.  On  it  were  printed  in  trembling, 

79 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

irregular  characters,  "GAD,"  the  "D"  scarcely 
finished  and  trailing  off  into  nothing. 

What  did  it  all  mean?  How  had  Shirley  met  his 
death,  and  why? 

"Tell  me  something  about  him,"  said  Kennedy, 
studying  the  paper  with  a  frown.  Grady  shrugged 
his  shoulders. 

"An  Englishman  —  that's  about  all  I  know. 
Looked  like  one  of  the  younger  sons  who  so  fre- 
quently go  out  to  seek  their  fortunes  in  the  colonies. 
By  his  appearance,  I  should  say  he  had  been  in  the 
Far  East — India,  no  doubt.  And  I  imagine  he  had 
made  good.  He  seemed  to  have  plenty  of  money. 
That's  all  I  know  about  him." 

"Is  anything  missing  from  his  room?"  I  asked. 
"Could  it  have  been  a  robbery?" 

"I  searched  the  room  hastily,"  replied  Grady. 
"Apparently  not  a  thing  had  been  touched.  I  don't 
think  it  was  robbery." 

By  this  time  we  had  made  our  way  through  the 
lobby  and  were  in  the  elevator. 

"I've  kept  the  room  just  as  it  was,"  went  on  Grady 
to  Kennedy,  lowering  his  voice.  "I've  even  delayed 
a  bit  in  notifying  the  police,  so  that  you  could  get 
here  first." 

A  moment  later  we  entered  the  rooms,  a  fairly 
expensive  suite,  consisting  of  a  sitting-room,  bed- 
room, and  bath.  Everything  was  in  a  condition  to 
indicate  that  Shirley  had  just  come  in  when  the 
shot,  if  shot  it  had  been,  was  fired. 

There,  on  the  floor,  lay  his  body,  still  in  the  same 
attitude  in  which  he  had  died  and  almost  as  Grady 
had  found  him  gasping.  Grady's  description  of  the 

80 


THE    MYSTIC    POISONER 

horrible  look  on  his  face  was,  if  anything,  an  under- 
statement. 

As  I  stood  with  my  eyes  riveted  on  the  horror- 
stricken  face  on  the  floor,  Kennedy  had  been  quietly 
going  over  the  furniture  and  carpet  about  the  body. 

"Look!"  he  exclaimed  at  last,  scarcely  turning  to 
us.  On  the  chair,  the  writing-table,  and  even  on  the 
walls  were  little  pitted  marks  and  scratches.  He 
bent  down  over  the  carpet.  There,  reflecting  the 
electric  light,  scattered  all  about,  were  little  fine 
pieces  of  something  that  glittered. 

"You  have  a  vacuum  cleaner,  I  suppose?"  in- 
quired Craig,  rising  quickly. 

"Certainly — a  plant  in  the  cellar." 

"No;  I  mean  one  that  is  portable." 

"Yes;  we  have  that,  too,"  answered  Grady,  hurry- 
ing to  the  room  telephone  to  have  the  cleaner  sent  up. 

Kennedy  now  began  to  look  through  Shirley's 
baggage.  There  was,  however,  nothing  to  indicate 
that  it  had  been  rifled. 

I  noted,  among  other  things,  a  photograph  of  a 
woman  in  Oriental  dress,  dusky,  languorous,  of  more 
than  ordinary  beauty  and  intelligence.  On  it  some- 
thing was  written  in  native  characters. 

Just  then  a  boy  wheeled  the  cleaner  down  the 
hall,  and  Kennedy  quickly  shoved  the  photograph 
into  his  pocket. 

First,  Kennedy  removed  the  dust  that  was  already 
in  the  machine.  Then  he  ran  the  cleaner  carefully 
over  the  carpet,  the  upholstery,  everything  about 
that  corner  of  the  room  where  the  body  lay.  When 
he  had  finished  he  emptied  out  the  dust  into  a  paper 
and  placed  it  in  his  pocket.  He  was  just  finishing 

81 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

when  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  it  was 
opened. 

"Mr.  Grady?"  said  a  young  man,  entering 
hurriedly. 

"Oh,  hello,  Glenn!  One  of  the  night  clerks  in  the 
office,  Kennedy,"  introduced  the  house  detective. 

"I've  just  heard  of  the — murder,"  Glenn  began. 
"I  was  in  the  dining-room,  being  relieved  for  my 
little  midnight  luncheon  as  usual,  when  I  heard  of 
it,  and  I  thought  that  perhaps  you  might  want  to 
know  something  that  happened  just  before  I  went  off 
duty." 

"Yes;   anything,"  broke  in  Kennedy. 

"It  was  early  in  the  evening,"  returned  the  clerk, 
slowly,  "when  a  messenger  left  a  little  package  for 
Captain  Shirley — said  that  Captain  Shirley  had  had 
it  sent  himself  and  asked  that  it  be  placed  in  his 
room.  It  was  a  little  affair  in  a  plain,  paper- wrapped 
parcel.  I  sent  one  of  the  boys  up  with  it  and  a  key, 
and  told  him  to  put  the  package  on  the  writing-desk 
up  here." 

Kennedy  looked  at  me.  That,  then,  was  the  way 
something,  whatever  it  might  be,  was  introduced 
into  the  room. 

"When  the  captain  came  in,"  resumed  the  night 
clerk,  "I  saw  there  was  a  letter  for  him  in  the  mail- 
box and  handed  it  to  him.  He  stood  before  the 
office  desk  while  he  opened  it.  I  thought  he  looked 
queer.  The  contents  seemed  to  alarm  him." 

"What  was  in  it?"  asked  Kennedy.  "Could  you 
see?" 

"I  got  one  glimpse.  It  seemed  to  be  nothing  but 
a  little  scarlet  bead  with  a  black  spot  on  it.  In  his 

82 


THE    MYSTIC    POISONER 

surprise,  he  dropped  a  piece  of  paper  from  the 
envelope  in  which  the  bead  had  been  wrapped  up. 
I  thought  it  was  strange,  and,  as  he  hurried  over  to 
the  elevator,  I  picked  it  up.  Here  it  is." 

The  clerk  handed  over  a  crumpled  piece  of  note- 
paper.  On  it  was  scrawled  the  word  "Gadhr,"  and 
underneath,  ''Beware!"  I  spelled  out  the  first 
strange  word.  It  had  an  ominous  sound — "Gadhr." 
Suddenly  there  flashed  through  my  mind  the  letters 
Shirley  had  tried  to  print  but  had  not  finished, 
"GAD." 

Kennedy  looked  at  the  paper  a  moment. 

"Gadhr!"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  low,  tense  tone. 
"Revolt — the  native  word  for  unrest  in  India,  the 
revolution!" 

We  stared  at  each  other  blankly.  All  of  us  had 
been  reading  lately  in  the  despatches  about  the 
troubles  there,  hidden  under  the  ban  of  the  censor- 
ship. I  knew  that  the  Hindu  propaganda  in  America 
was  as  yet  in  its  infancy,  although  several  plots  and 
conspiracies  had  been  hatched  here. 

"Is  there  any  one  in  the  hotel  whom  you  might 
suspect?"  asked  Kennedy. 

Grady  cleared  his  throat  and  looked  at  the  night 
clerk  significantly. 

"Well,"  he  answered,  thoughtfully,  "across  the 
hall  there  is  a  new  guest  who  came  to-day  —  or, 
rather,  yesterday  —  a  Mrs.  Anthony.  We  don't 
know  anything  about  her,  except  that  she  looks  like 
a  foreigner.  She  did  not  come  directly  from  abroad, 
but  must  have  been  living  in  New  York  for  some 
time.  They  tell  me  she  asked  for  a  room  on  this 
floor,  at  this  end  of  the  hall.'' 

83 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

"H'm!"  considered  Kennedy.  "I'd  like  to  see 
her — without  being  seen." 

"I  think  I  can  arrange  that,"  acquiesced  Grady. 
"You  and  Jameson  stay  in  the  bedroom.  I'll  ask 
her  to  come  over  here,  and  then  you  can  get  a  good 
look  at  her." 

The  plan  satisfied  Kennedy,  and  together  we 
entered  the  bedroom,  putting  out  the  light  and 
leaving  the  door  just  a  trifle  ajar. 

A  moment  later  Mrs.  Anthony  entered.  I  heard 
•a  suppressed  gasp  from  Kennedy. 

"The  woman  in  the  photograph!"  he  whispered 
to  me. 

I  studied  her  face  minutely  from  our  coign  of 
vantage.  There  was,  indeed,  a  resemblance,  too 
striking  to  be  mere  coincidence. 

In  the  presence  of  Grady,  she  seemed  to  be  nervous 
and  on  guard,  as  though  she  knew,  intuitively,  that 
she  was  suspected. 

"Did  you  know  Captain  Shirley?"  shot  out  Grady. 

Kennedy  looked  over  at  me  and  frowned.  I  knew 
that  something  more  subtle  than  New  York  police 
methods  would  be  necessary  in  order  to  get  anything 
from  a  woman  like  this. 

"No,"  she  replied,  quietly.  "You  see,  I  just 
came  here  to-day."  Her  voice  had  an  English 
accent. 

"Did  you  hear  a  shot?" 

"No,"  she  replied.  "The  voices  in  the  hall 
wakened  me,  though  I  did  not  know  what  was  the 
matter  until  just  now." 

"Then  you  made  no  effort  to  find  out?"  inquired 
Grady,  suspiciously. 

84 


THE    MYSTIC    POISONER 

"I  am  alone  here  in  the  city,"  she  answered, 
simply.  "I  was  afraid  to  intrude." 

Throughout  she  gave  the  impression  that  she  was 
strangely  reticent  about  herself.  Evidently  Kennedy 
had  not  much  faith  that  Grady  would  elicit  anything 
of  importance.  He  tiptoed  to  the  door  that  led 
from  the  bedroom  to  the  hall  and  found,  that  it 
could  be  opened  from  the  inside. 

While  Grady  continued  his  questioning,  Craig  and 
I  slipped  out  into  the  hall  to  the  room  which  Mrs. 
Anthony  occupied. 

It  was  a  suite  much  plainer  than  that  occupied  by 
Shirley.  Craig  switched  on  the  light  and  looked 
about  hastily  and  keenly. 

For  a  moment  he  stood  before  a  dressing-table  on 
which  were  several  toilet  articles.  A  jewel-case 
seemed  to  attract  his  attention,  and  he  opened  it. 
Inside  were  some  comparatively  trifling  trinkets. 
The  thing  that  caused  him  to  exclaim,  however,  was 
a  necklace,  broken  and  unstrung.  I  looked,  too.  It 
was  composed  of  little  crimson  beads,  each  with  a 
black  spot  on  it! 

Quickly  he  drew  from  his  pocket  the  photo- 
graph he  had  taken  from  Shirley's  baggage.  As  I 
looked  at  it  again  there  could  be  no  doubt  now  in 
my  mind  of  the  identity  of  the  original.  It  was  the 
same  face.  And  about  the  neck,  in  the  picture,  was 
a  necklace,  plainly  the  same  as  that  before  us. 

"What  are  the  beads?"  I  asked,  fingering  them. 
"I've  never  seen  anything  like  them." 

' '  Not  beads  at  all, ' '  he  replied.  ' '  They  are  Hindu 
prayer-beans,  sometimes  called  ruttee,  jequirity 
beans,  seeds  of  the  plant  known  to  science  as  Abrus 

7  8S 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

precatorius.  They  produce  a  deadly  poison — abrin." 
He  slipped  four  or  five  of  them  into  his  pocket. 
Then  he  resumed  his  cursory  search  of  the  room. 
There,  on  a  writing-pad,  was  a  note  wnich  Mrs. 
Anthony  had  evidently  been  engaged  in  writing. 
Craig  pored  over  it  for  some  time,  while  I  fidgeted. 
It  was  nothing  but  a  queer  jumble  of  letters: 

SOWC  FSSJWA  EKNLFFBY  WOVHLX  IHWAJYKH 
zoiMLEL  EPJNVPSL  WCLURL  GHIHDA  ELBA. 

"Come,"  I  cautioned;  "she  may  return  any 
moment." 

Quickly  he  copied  off  the  letters. 

"It's  a  cipher,"  he  said,  simply,  "a  new  and 
rather  difficult  one,  too,  I  imagine.  But  I  may  be 
able  to  decipher  it." 

Kennedy  withdrew  from  the  room  and,  instead  of 
going  back  to  Shirley's,  rode  down  in  the  elevator 
to  find  the  night  clerk. 

"Had  Captain  Shirley  any  friends  in  the  city?" 
asked  Craig. 

Glenn  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"He  was  out  most  of  the  time,"  he  replied.  "He 
seemed  to  be  very  occupied  about  something.  No, 
I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  him  speak  to  a  soul  here, 
except  a  word  to  the  waiters  and  the  boys.  Once, 
though,"  he  recollected,  "he  was  called  up  by  a  Mrs. 
Beekman  Rogers." 

"Mrs.  Beekman  Rogers,"  repeated  Kennedy, 
jotting  the  name  down  and  looking  it  up  in  the  tele- 
phone-book. She  lived  on  Riverside  Drive,  and, 

86 


THE    MYSTIC    POISONER 

slender  though  the  information  was,  Kennedy 
seemed  glad  to  get  it. 

Grady  joined  us  a  moment  later,  having  been 
wondering  where  we  had  disappeared. 

"You  saw  her?"  he  asked.  "What  did  you  think 
of  her?" 

"Worth  watching,"  was  all  Kennedy  would  say. 
"Did  you  get  anything  out  of  her?" 

Grady  shook  his  head. 

"But  I  am  convinced  she  knows  something,"  he 
insisted. 

Kennedy  was  about  to  reply  when  he  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  arrival  of  a  couple  of  detectives  from 
the  city  police,  tardily  summoned  by  Grady. 

"I  shall  let  you  know  the  moment  I  have  dis- 
covered anything,"  he  said,  as  he  bade  Grady 
good-by.  "And  thank  you  for  letting  me  have  a 
chance  at  the  case  before  all  the  clues  had  been 
spoiled." 

Late  though  it  was,  in  the  laboratory  Kennedy 
set  to  work  examining  the  dust  which  he  had  swept 
up  by  the  vacuum  cleaner,  as  well  as  the  jequirity 
beans  he  had  taken  from  Mrs.  Anthony's  jewel-case. 

I  do  not  know  how  much  sleep  he  had,  but  I 
managed  to  snatch  a  few  hours'  rest,  and  early  in 
the  morning  I  found  him  at  work  again,  examining 
the  cipher  message  which  he  had  copied. 

"By  the  way,"  he  said,  scarcely  looking  up  as  he 
saw  me  again,  "there  is  something  quite  important 
which  you  can  do  for  me."  Rather  pleased  to  be  of 
some  use,  I  waited  eagerly.  "I  wish  you'd  go  out 
and  see  what  you  can  find  out  about  that  Mrs. 
Beekman  Rogers,"  he  continued.  "I've  some  work 

87 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

here  that  will  keep  me  for  several  hours;  so  come 
back  to  me  here." 

It  was  such  a  commission  as  he  had  often  given 
me  before,  and,  through  my  connection  with  the 
Star,  I  found  no  difficulty  in  executing  it. 

I  found  that  Mrs.  Rogers  was  well  known  in  a 
certain  circle  of  society  in  the  city.  She  was  wealthy 
and  had  the  reputation  of  having  given  quite  liberally 
to  many  causes  that  had  interested  her.  Just  now, 
her  particular  fad  was  Oriental  religions,  and  some 
of  her  bizarre  beliefs  had  attracted  a  great  deal  of 
attention.  A  couple  of  years  before  she  had  made  a 
trip  around  the  world,  and  had  lived  in  India  for 
several  months,  apparently  fascinated  by  the  life 
and  attracted  to  the  mysteries  of  Oriental  faiths. 

With  my  budget  of  information  I  hastened  back 
again  to  join  Kennedy  at  the  laboratory.  I  could 
see  that  the  cipher  was  still  unread.  From  that,  I 
conjectured  that  it  was,  as  he  had  guessed,  con- 
structed on  some  new  and  difficult  plan. 

"What  do  you  think  of  Mrs.  Rogers?"  I  asked,  as 
I  finished  reciting  what  I  had  learned.  "Is  it  pos- 
sible that  she  can  be  in  this  revolutionary  propa- 
ganda?" He  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 

"Much  of  the  disaffection  that  exists  in  India 
to-day,"  he  replied,  "is  due  to  the  encouragement 
and  financial  assistance  which  it  has  received  from 
people  here  in  this  country,  although  only  a  fraction 
of  the  natives  of  India  have  ever  heard  of  us.  Much 
of  the  money  devoted  to  the  cause  of  revolution  and 
anarchy  in  India  is  contributed  by  worthy  people 
who  innocently  believe  that  their  subscriptions  are 
destined  to  promote  the  cause  of  native  enlighten- 

83 


THE    MYSTIC    POISONER 

ment.  I  prefer  to  believe  that  there  is  some  such 
explanation  in  her  case.  At  any  rate,  I  think  that 
we  had  better  make  a  call  on  Mrs.  Rogers." 

Early  that  afternoon,  accordingly,  we  found  our- 
selves at  the  door  of  the  large  stone  house  on  River- 
side Drive  in  which  Mrs.  Rogers  lived.  Kennedy 
inquired  for  her,  and  we  were  admitted  to  a  large 
reception-room,  the  very  decorations  of  which  showed 
evidence  of  her  leaning  toward  the  Orient.  Mrs. 
Rogers  proved  to  be  a  widow  of  baffling  age,  good- 
looking,  with  a  certain  indefinable  attractiveness. 

Kennedy's  cue  was  .bvious.  It  was  to  be  an  eager 
neophyte  in  the  mysteries  of  the  East,  and  he  played 
the  part  perfectly  without  overdoing  it. 

"Perhaps  you  would  like  to  come  to  some  of 
the  meetings  of  our  Cult  of  the  Occult,"  she  sug- 
gested. 

"Delighted,  I  am  sure,"  returned  Kennedy.  She 
handed  him  a  card. 

"We  have  a  meeting  this  afternoon  at  four,"  she 
explained.  "I  should  be  glad  to  welcome  you 
among  us." 

Kennedy  thanked  her  and  rose  to  go,  preferring 
to  say  nothing  more  just  then  about  the  problems 
which  vexed  us  in  the  Shirley  case,  lest  it  should 
make  further  investigation  more  difficult. 

Nothing  more  had  happened  at  the  hotel,  as  we 
heard  from  Grady  a  few  minutes  later,  and,  as  there 
was  some  time  before  the  cult  met,  we  returned  to 
the  laboratory. 

Things  had  evidently  progressed  well,  even  in  the 
few  hours  that  he  had  been  studying  his  meager 
evidence.  Not  only  was  he  making  a  series  of  deli- 

89 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

cate  chemical  tests,  but,  in  cases,  he  had  several 
guinea-pigs  which  he  was  using  also. 

He  now  studied  through  a  microscope  some  of 
the  particles  of  dust  from  the  vacuum  cleaner. 

"Little  bits  of  glass,"  he  said,  briefly,  taking  his 
eye  from  the  eyepiece.  "Captain  Shirley  was  not 
shot." 

"Not  shot?"  I  repeated.  "Then  how  was  he 
killed?" 

Kennedy  eyed  me  gravely. 

"Shirley  was  murdered  by  a  poisoned  bomb!" 

I  said  nothing,  for  the  revelation  was  even  more 
startling  than  I  had  imagined. 

"In  that  package  which  was  placed  in  his  room," 
he  went  on,  "must  have  been  a  little  infernal  machine 
of  glass,  constructed  so  as  to  explode  the  moment 
the  wrapper  was  broken.  The  flying  pieces  of  glass 
injected  the  poison  as  by  a  myriad  of  hypodermic 
needles — the  highly  poisonous  toxin  of  abrin,  product 
of  the  jequirity,  which  is  ordinarily  destroyed  in  the 
stomach  but  acts  powerfully  if  injected  into  the 
blood.  Shirley  died  of  jequirity  poisoning,  or  rather 
of  the  alkaloid  in  the  bean.  It  has  been  used  in 
India  for  criminal  poisoning  for  ages.  Only,  there 
it  is  crushed,  worked  into  a  paste,  and  rolled  into 
needle-pointed  forms  which  prick  the  skin.  Abrin  is 
composed  of  two  albuminous  bodies,  one  of  which 
resembles  snake- venom  in  allots  effects,  attacking 
the  heart,  making  the  temperature  fall  rapidly,  and 
leaving  the  blood  fluid  after  death.  It  is  a  vegetable 
toxin,  quite  comparable  with  ricin  from  the  castor- 
oil  bean." 

In  spite  of  my  horror  at  the  diabolical  plot  that 
90 


THE    MYSTIC    POISONER 

had  been  aimed  at  Shirley,  my  mind  ran  along, 
keenly  endeavoring  to  piece  together  the  scattered 
fragments  of  the  case.  Some  one,  of  course,  had  sent 
the  package  while  he  was  out  and  had  it  placed  in 
his  room.  Had  it  been  the  same  person  who  had 
sent  the  single  jequirity  bea.n?  My  mind  instantly 
reverted  to  the  strange  V/GL  an  across  the  hall,  the 
photograph  in  his  luggage,  and  the  broken  necklace 
in  the  jewel-case. 

Kennedy  continued  looking  at  the  remainder  of 
the  jequirity  beans  and  a  liquid  he  had  developed 
from  some  of  them.  Finally,  with  a  glance  at  his 
watch,  he  placed  a  tube  of  the  liquid  in  a  leather  case 
in  his  pocket. 

"This  may  not  be  the  only  murder,"  he  remarked, 
sentcntiously.  "It  is  best  to  be  prepared.  Come; 
we  must  get  up  to  that  meeting." 

We  journeyed  up- town  and  arrived  at  the  little 
private  hall  which  the  Cult  of  the  Occult  had  hired 
somewhat  ahead  of  the  time  set  for  the  meeting,  as 
Kennedy  had  aimed  to  do.  Mrs.  Rogers  was  already 
there  and  met  us  at  the  door. 

"So  glad  to  see  you,"  she  welcomed,  leading  us  in. 

As  we  entered  we  could  breathe  the  characteristic 
pervading  odor  of  sandal  wood.    Rich  Oriental  hang- 
ings were  on  the  walls,  interspersed  with  cabalistic- 
signs,  while  at  one  end  was  a  raised  dais. 

Mrs.  Rogers  introduced  us  to  a  rather  stout, 
middle-aged,  sallow-faced  individual  in  a  turban  and 
flowing  robes  of  rustling  purple  silk.  His  eyes  were 
piercing,  small,  and  black.  The  plump,  unhealthy, 
milk-white  fingers  of  his  hands  were  heavy  with 
ornate  rings.  He  looked  like  what  I  should  have 

91 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

imagined  a  swami  to  be,  and  such,  I  found,  was 
indeed  his  title. 

"The    Swami    Rajmanandra,"    introduced    Mrs. 

Rogers. 

He  extended  his  flabby  hand  in  welcome,  while 
Kennedy  eyed  him  keenly.  We  were  not  permitted 
many  words  with  the  swami,  however,  for  Mrs.  Rogers 
next  presented  us  to  a  younger  but  no  less  interesting- 
looking  Oriental  who  was  in  Occidental  dress. 

"This  is  Mr.  Singh  Bandematarain,"  said  Mrs. 
Rogers.  "You  know,  he  has  been  sent  here  by  the 
nizam  of  his  province  to  be  educated  at  the  uni- 
versity." 

Mrs.  Rogers  then  hastened  to  conduct  us  to  seats, 
as,  one  by  one,  the  worshipers  entered.  They  were 
mostly  women  of  the  aristocratic  type  who  evidently 
found  in  this  cult  a  new  fad  to  occupy  their  jaded 
craving  for  the  sensational.  In  the  dim  light,  there 
was  something  almost  sepulchral  about  the  gather- 
ing, and  their  complexions  seemed  as  white  as  wax. 

Again  the  door  opened  and  another  woman  en- 
tered. I  felt  the  pressure  of  Kennedy's  hand  on  my 
arm  and  turned  my  eyes  unobtrusively.  It  was  Mrs. 
Anthony. 

Quietly  she  seemed  to  glide  over  the  floor  toward 
the  swami  and,  for  a  moment,  stood  talking  to  him. 
I  saw  Singh  eye  her  with  a  curious  look.  Was  it 
fear  or  suspicion? 

I  had  come  expecting  to  see  something  weird  and 
wild,  perhaps  the  exhibition  of  an  Indian  fakir — 
I  know  not  what.  In  that,  at  least,  I  was  disap- 
pointed. The  Swami  Rajmanandra,  picturesque 
though  he  was,  talked  most  fascinatingly  about  his 

92 


THE    MYSTIC    POISONER 

religion,  but  either  the  theatricals  were  reserved  for 
an  inner  circle  or  else  we  were  subtly  suspected,  for 
I  soon  found  myself  longing  for  the  meeting  to  close 
so  that  we  could  observe  those  whom  we  had  come 
to  watch. 

I  had  almost  come  to  the  conclusion  that  our 
mission  had  been  a  failure  when  the  swami  con- 
cluded and  the  visitors  swarmed  forward  to  talk 
with  the  holy  man  from  the  East.  Kennedy  managed 
to  make  his  way  about  the  circle  to  Mrs.  Rogers  and 
soon  was  in  an  animated  conversation. 

"Were  you  acquainted  with  a  Captain  Shirley?" 
he  asked,  finally,  as  she  opened  the  way  for  the 
question  by  a  remark  about  her  life  in  Calcutta. 

"Y-yes,"  she  replied,  hesitating;  "I  read  in  the 
papers  this  morning  that  he  was  found  dead,  most 
mysteriously.  Terrible,  wasn't  it?  Yes,  I  met  him 
in  Calcutta  while  I  was  there.  Why,  he  was  on  his 
way  to  London,  and  came  to  New  York  and  called 
on  me." 

My  eye  followed  the  direction  of  Mrs.  Rogers's. 
She  was  talking  to  us,  but  really  her  attention  was 
centered  on  Mrs.  Anthony  and  the  swami  together. 
As  I  glanced  back  at  her  I  caught  sight  of  Singh, 
evidently  engaged  in  watching  the  same  two  that  I 
was.  Did  he  have  some  suspicion  of  Mrs.  Anthony? 
Why  was  he  watching  Mrs.  Rogers?  I  determined 
to  study  the  two  women  more  closely.  I  saw  that 
Kennedy  had  already  noticed  what  I  had  seen. 

"One  very  peculiar  thing,"  he  said,  deliberately 
modulating  his  voice  so  that  it  could  be  heard  by 
those  about  us,  "was  that,  just  before  he  was  killed, 
some  one  sent  a  prayer-bean  from  a  necklace  to  him." 

93 


THE    TREASURE-TRAIN 

At  the  mention  of  the  necklace  I  saw  that  Mrs. 
Rogers  was  all  attention.  Involuntarily  she  shot  a 
glance  at  Mrs.  Anthony,  as  if  she  noted  that  she  was 
not  wearing  the  necklace  now. 

"Is  that  Englishwoman  a  member  of  the  cult?" 
queried  Kennedy,  a  moment  later,  as,  quite  naturally, 
he  looked  over  at  Mrs.  Anthony.  "Who  is  she?" 

"Oh,"  replied  Mrs.  Rogers,  quickly,  "she  isn't  an 
Englishwoman  at  all.  She  is  a  Hindu — I  believe,  a 
former  nautch-girl,  daughter  of  a  nautch-girl.  She 
passes  by  the  name  of  Mrs.  Anthony,  but  really  her 
name  is  Kalia  Dass.  Every  one  in  Calcutta  knew  her. ' ' 

Kennedy  quietly  drew  his  card-case  from  his 
pocket  and  handed  a  card  to  Mrs.  Rogers. 

"I  should  like  to  talk  to  you  about  her  some  time," 
he  said,  in  a  careful  whisper.  "If  anything  happens 
— don't  hesitate  to  call  on  me." 

Before  Mrs.  Rogers  could  recover  from  her  sur- 
prise Kennedy  had  said  good-by  and  we  were  on 
our  way  to  the  laboratory. 

"That's  a  curious  situation,"  I  observed.  "Can 
you  make  it  out?  How  does  Shirley  fit  into  this 
thing?" 

Craig  hesitated  a  moment,  as  though  debating 
whether  to  say  anything,  even  to  me,  about  his 
suspicions. 

"Suppose,"  he  said,  slowly,  "that  Shirley  was  a 
secret  agent  of  the  British  government,  charged  with 
the  mission  of  finding  out  whether  Mrs.  Rogers  was 
contributing  —  unknowingly,  perhaps  —  to  hatching 
another  Indian  mutiny?  Would  that  suggest  any- 
thing to  you?" 

"And  the  nautch-girl  whom  he  had  known  in 
94 


THE    MYSTIC   POISONER 

Calcutta  followed  him,  hoping  to  worm  from  him 
the  secrets  which  he — " 

"Not  too  fast,"  he  cautioned.  "Let  us  merely 
suppose  that  Shirley  was  a  spy.  If  I  am  not  mis- 
taken, we  shall  see  something  happen  soon,  as  a 
result  of  what  I  said  to  Mrs.  Rogers." 

Excited  now  by  the  possibilities  opened  up  by  his 
conjecture  regarding  Shirley,  which  I  knew  must 
have  amounted  to  a  certainty  in  his  mind,  I  watched 
him  impatiently,  as  he  calmly  set  to  work  cleaning 
up  the  remainder  of  the  laboratory  investigation  in 
the  affair. 

It  was  scarcely  half  an  hour  later  that  a  car  drove 
up  furiously  to  our  door  and  Mrs.  Rogers  burst  in, 
terribly  agitated. 

' '  You  remember, ' '  she  cried,  breathlessly, ' ' you  said 
that  a  jequirity  bean  was  sent  to  Captain  Shirley?" 

"Yes,"  encouraged  Kennedy. 

"Well,  after  you  left,  I  was  thinking  about  it. 
That  Kalia  Dass  used  to  wear  a  necklace  of  them, 
but  she  didn't  have  it  on  to-day.  I  began  thinking 
about  it.  While  she  was  talking  to  the  swami  I 
went  over.  I've  noticed  how  careful  she  always  is 
of  her  hand-bag.  So  I  managed  to  catch  my  hand 
in  the  loop  about  her  wrist.  It  dropped  on  the  floor. 
We  both  made  a  dive  for  it,  but  I  got  it.  I  managed, 
also,  to  open  the  catch  and,  when  I  picked  it  up  to 
hand  to  her,  with  an  apology,  what  should  roll  out 
but  a  score  of  prayer-beans!  Some  papers  dropped 
out,  too.  She  almost  tore  them  from  my  hands; 
in  fact,  one  of  them  did  tear.  After  it  was  over  I 
had  this  scrap,  a  corner  torn  off  one  of  them." 

Kennedy  took  the  scrap  which  she  handed  to  him 

95 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

and  studied  it  carefully,  while  we  looked  over  his 
shoulder.  On  it  was  a  queer  alphabetical  table. 
Across  the  first  line  were  the  letters  singly,  each 
followed  by  a  dash.  Then,  in  squares  underneath, 
were  pairs  of  letters— AA,  BA.  CA,  DA,  and  so  on, 
while,  vertically,  the  column  on  the  left  read:  AA, 
AB,  AC,  AD,  and  so  on. 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Rogers,"  Craig  said,  rising. 
"This  is  very  important." 

She  seemed  reluctant  to  go,  but,  as  there  was  no 
excuse  for  staying  longer,  she  finally  left.  Kennedy 
immediately  set  to  work  studying  the  scrap  of  paper 
and  the  cipher  message  he  had  copied,  while  I  stifled 
my  impatience  as  best  I  could. 

I  could  do  nothing  but  reflect  on  the  possibility  of 
what  a  jealous  woman  might  do.  Mrs.  Rogers  had 
given  us  one  example.  Did  the  same  explanation 
shed  any  light  on  the  mystery  of  the  nautch-girl  and 
the  jequmty  bean  sent  to  Shirley?  There  was  no 
doubt  now  that  Shirley  had  known  her  in  Calcutta — 
intimately,  also.  Perhaps  the  necklace  had  some 
significance.  At  least,  he  must  have  remembered  it, 
as  his  agitation  over  the  single  bean  and  the  word 
"Gadhr"  seemed  to  indicate.  If  she  had  sent  it  to 
him,  was  it  as  a  threat?  To  all  appearance,  he  had 
not  known  that  she  was  in  New  York,  much  less  that 
she  was  at  the  same  hotel  and  on  the  same  floor. 
Why  had  she  followed  him?  Had  she  misinterpreted 
his  attentions  to  Mrs.  Rogers? 

Longing  to  ask  Kennedy  the  myriad  questions 
that  flashed  through  my  mind,  I  turned  to  him  as 
he  scowled  at  the  scrap  of  paper  and  the  cipher 
before  him. 

96 


THE    MYSTIC    POISONER 

Presently  he  glanced  up  at  me,  still  scowling. 

"It's  no  use,  Walter,"  he  said;  "I  can't  make  it 
C>ut  without  the  key — at  least,  it  will  take  so  long  to 
discover  the  key  that  it  may  be  useless." 

Just  then  the  telephone-bell  rang  and  he  sprang 
to  it  eagerly.  As  I  listened  I  gathered  that  it  was 
another  hurried  call  from  Grady. 

"Something  has  happened  to  Mrs.  Anthony!" 
cried  Craig,  as  he  hooked  up  the  receiver  and  seized 
his  hat. 

A  second  time  we  posted  to  the  Prince  Edward 
Charles,  spurred  by  the  mystery  that  surrounded  the 
case.  No  one  met  us  in  the  lobby  this  time,  and  we 
rode  up  directly  in  the  elevator  to  Mrs.  Anthony's 
room. 

As  we  came  down  the  hall  and  Grady  met  us  at 
the  door,  he  did  not  need  to  tell  us  that  something 
was  wrong.  One  experience  like  that  with  Shirley 
had  put  the  hotel  people  on  guard,  and  the  house 
physician  was  already  there,  administering  stimulants^ 
to  Mrs.  Anthony,  who  was  lying  on  the  bed. 

"It's  just  like  the  other  case,"  whispered  Grady. 
"There  are  the  same  scratches  on  her  face  and 
hands." 

The  doctor  glanced  about  at  us.  By  the  look  on 
his  face,  I  read  that  it  was  a  losing  fight.  Kennedy 
bent  down .  The  floor  about  the  door  was  covered  with 
little  glittering  slivers  of  glass.  On  Mrs.  Anthony's 
face  was  the  same  drawn  look  as  on  Shirley's. 

Was  it  a  suicide  ?  Had  we  been  getting  too  close  on 
her  trail,  or  had  Mrs.  Anthony  been  attacked?  Had 
some  one  been  using  her,  and  now  was  afraid  of  her 
and  sought  to  get  her  out  of  the  way  for  safety? 

07 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

What  was  the  secret  locked  in  her  silent  lips? 
The  woman  was  plainly  dying.  Would  she  carry 
the  secret  with  her,  after  all  ? 

Kennedy  quickly  drew  from  his  pocket  the  vial 
which  I  had  seen  him  place  there  in  the  laboratory 
early  in  the  day.  From  the  doctor's  case  he  selected 
a  hypodermic  and  coolly  injected  a  generous  dose  of 
the  stuff  into  her  arm. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  the  doctor,  as  we  all  watched 
her  face  anxiously. 

' '  The  antitoxin  to  abrin, ' '  he  replied.  ' '  I  developed 
some  of  it  at  the  same  time  that  I  was  studying  the 
poison.  If  an  animal  that  is  immune  to  a  toxin  is 
bled  and  the  serum  collected,  the  antitoxin  in  it 
may  be  injected  into  a  healthy  animal  and  render  it 
immune.  Ricin  and  abrin  are  vegetable  protein 
toxins  of  enormous  potency  and  exert  a  narcotic 
action.  Guinea-pigs  fed  on  them  in  proper  doses 
attain  such  a  degree  of  immunity  that,  in  a  short 
time,  they  can  tolerate  four  hundred  times  the  fatal 
dose.  The  serum  also  can  be  used  to  neutralize  the 
toxin  in  another  animal,  to  a  certain  extent." 

We  crowded  about  Kennedy  and  the  doctor,  our 
eyes  riveted  on  the  drawn  face  before  us.  Would 
the  antitoxin  work? 

Meanwhile,  Kennedy  moved  over  to  the  writing- 
table  which  he  had  examined  on  our  first  visit  to  the 
room.  Covered  up  in  the  writing-pad  was  still  the 
paper  which  he  had  copied.  Only,  Mrs.  Anthony 
had  added  much  more  to  it.  He  looked  at  it  des- 
perately. What  good  would  it  do  if,  after  hours,  his 
cleverness  might  solve  the  cipher — too  late? 

Mrs.  Anthony  seemed  to  be  struggling  bravely. 

98 


THE    MYSTIC    POISONER 

Once  I  thought  she  was  almost  conscious.  Glazed 
though  her  eyes  looked,  she  saw  Kennedy  vaguely, 
with  the  paper  in  his  hand.  Her  lips  moved.  Ken- 
nedy bent  down,  though  whether  he  heard  or  read 
her  lip  movements  I  do  not  know. 

"Her  pocket-book!"  he  exclaimed. 

We  found  it  crushed  under  her  coat  which  she  had 
taken  off  when  she  entered.  Craig  opened  it  and 
irew  forth  a  crumpled  sheet  of  paper  from  which  a 
corner  had  been  torn.  It  exactly  fitted  the  scrap 
that  Mrs.  Rogers  had  given  us.  There,  contained 
within  twenty-seven  horizontal  and  twenty-seven 
vertical  lines,  making  in  all  six  hundred  and  seventy- 
six  squares,  was  every  possible  combination  of  two 
letters  of  the  alphabet. 

Kennedy  looked  up,  still  in  desperation.  It  did  him 
no  good.  He  could  have  completed  the  table  himself. 

"In — the — lining."  Her  lips  managed  to  frame 
the  words. 

Kennedy  literally  tore  the  bag  apart.  There  was 
nothing  but  a  plain  white  blank  card.  With  a  super- 
human effort  she  moved  her  lips  again. 

"Smelling-salts,"  she  seemed  to  say. 

I  looked  about.  On  the  dressing-table  stood  a 
little  dark-green  bottle.  I  pulled  the  ground-glass 
stopper  from  it  and  a  most  pungent  odor  of  car- 
bonate of  ammonia  filled  the  room.  Quickly  I  held 
it  under  her  nose,  but  she  shook  her  head  weakly. 

Kennedy  seemed  to  understand.  He  snatched  the 
bottle  from  me  and  held  the  card  directly  over  its 
mouth.  As  the  fumes  of  the  ammonia  poured  out, 
I  saw  faintly  on  the  card  the  letters  HR. 

We  turned  to  Mrs.  Anthony.  The  effort  had  used 

9Q 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

up  her  strength.    She  had  lapsed  again  into  uncon- 
sciousness as  Craig  bent  over  her. 

"Will  she  live?"  I  asked. 

"I  think  so,"  he  replied,  adding  a  hasty  word  to 
the  doctor. 

' '  What's  that  ?  Look !"  I  exclaimed,  pointing  to  the 
card  from  which  the  letters  HR  had  already  faded  as 
mysteriously  as  they  had  appeared,  leaving  the  card 
blank  again. 

"It  is  the  key!"  he  cried,  excitedly.  "Written  in 
sympathetic  ink.  At  last  we  have  it  all." 

On  the  queer  alphabetical  table  which  the  two  pieces 
of  paper  made,  he  now  wrote  quickly  the  alphabet 
again,  horizontally  across  the  top,  starting  with  H, 
and  vertically  down  the  side,  starting  with  R,  thus: 


IOO 


THE    MYSTIC    POISONER 

"See!"  exclaimed  Kennedy,  triumphantly,  work- 
ing rapidly.  "Take  the  word  'war'  for  instance. 
The  square  which  contains  WA  is  in  line  S,  column 
D.  So  I  put  down  SD.  The  odd  letter  R,  with  a 
dash,  is  in  line  R,  column  Y.  So  I  put  down  RY. 
WAR  thus  becomes  SDRY.  Working  it  backward 
from  SDRY,  I  take  the  two  letters  SD.  In  line  S, 
column  D,  I  find  WA  in  the  square,  and  in  line  R, 
column  Y,  I  find  just  R — making  the  translation  of 
the  cipher  read  'War.'  Now,"  he  went  on,  excitedly, 
"take  the  message  we  have; 

"SOWC  FSSJWA  EKNLFFBY  WOVHLX  IHWAJYKH 
joiMLEL  EPJNVPSL  WCLURL  GHIHDA  ELBA. 

"I  translate  each  pair  of  letters  as  I  come  to  them." 
He  was  writing  rapidly.    There  was  the  message: 

Have  located  New  York  headquarters  at  101  Eveningside 
Avenue,  Apartment  K. 

Kennedy  did  not  pause,  but  dashed  from  the  room, 
followed  by  Grady  and  myself. 

As  our  taxi  pulled  up  on  the  avenue,  we  saw  that 
the  address  was  a  new  but  small  apartment-house. 
We  entered  and  located  Apartment  K. 

Casting  about  for  a  way  to  get  in,  Craig  discovered 
that  the  fire-escape  could  be  reached  from  a  balcony 
by  the  hall  window.  He  swung  himself  over  the  gap, 
and  we  followed.  It  was  the  work  of  only  a  minute 
to  force  the  window-latch.  We  entered.  No  one  was 
there. 

As  we  pressed  after  him,  he  stopped  short  and 
flashed  his  electric  bull's-eye  about  with  an  excla- 

8  101 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

mation  of  startled  surprise.  There  was  a  fully 
equipped  chemical  and  electrical  laboratory.  There 
were  explosives  enough  to  have  blown  not  only  us 
but  a  whole  block  to  kingdom  come.  More  than 
that,  it  was  a  veritable  den  of  poisons.  On  a  table 
stood  beakers  and  test-tubes  in  which  was  crushed 
a  paste  that  still  showed  parts  of  the  red  ruttee  beans. 

"Some  one  planned  here  to  kill  Shirley,  get  him 
out  of  the  way,"  reconstructed  Kennedy,  gazing 
about;  "some  one  working  under  the  cloak  of 
Oriental  religion." 

1 '  Mrs.  Anthony  ?"  queried  Grady.  Kennedy  shook 
his  head. 

"On  the  contrary,  like  Shirley,  she  was  an  agent  of 
the  Indian  Secret  Service.  The  rest  of  the  cipher 
shows  it.  She  was  sent  to  watch  some  one  else,  as  he 
was  sent  to  watch  Mrs.  Rogers.  Neither  could  have 
known  that  the  other  was  on  the  case.  She  found 
out,  first,  that  the  package  with  the  prayer-bean 
and  the  word  'Gadhr'  was  an  attempt  to  warn  and 
save  Shirley,  whom  she  had  known  in  Calcutta  and 
still  loved,  but  feared  to  compromise.  She  must 
have  tried  to  see  him,  but  failed.  She  hesitated  to 
write,  but  finally  did.  Then  some  one  must  have 
seen  that  she  was  dangerous.  Another  poisoned 
bomb  was  sent  to  her.  No;  the  nautch-girl  is 
innocent." 

"'Sh!"  cautioned  Grady. 

Outside  we  could  hear  the  footsteps  of  some  one 
coming  along  the  hall.  Kennedy  snapped  off  his 
light.  The  door  opened. 

"Stand  still!    One  motion  and  I  will  throw  it!" 

As  Kennedy's  voice  rang  out  from  the  direction 

102 


THE    MYSTIC    POISONER 

of  the  table  on  which  stood  the  half-finished  glass 
bombs,  Grady  and  I  flung  ourselves  forward  at  the 
intruder,  not  knowing  what  we  would  encounter. 

A  moment  later  Kennedy  had  found  the  electric 
switch  and  flashed  up  the  lights. 

It  was  Singh,  who  had  used  both  Mrs.  Rogers's 
money  and  Rajmanandra's  religion  to  cover  his 
conspiracy  of  revolt. 


V 

THE   PHANTOM   DESTROYER 

GUY  FAWKES  himself  would  shudder  in  that 
mill.    Think  of  it — five  explosions  on  five  suc- 
cessive days,  and  not  a  clue!" 

Our  visitor  had  presented  a  card  bearing  the  name 
of  Donald  MacLeod,  chief  of  the  Nitropolis  Powder 
Company's  Secret  Service.  It  was  plain  that  he  was 
greatly  worried  over  the  case  about  which  he  had  at 
last  been  forced  to  consult  Kennedy. 

As  he  spoke,  I  remembered  having  read  in  the 
despatches  about  the  explosions,  but  the  accounts 
had  been  so  meager  that  I  had  not  realized  that  there 
was  anything  especially  unusual  about  them,  for  it 
was  at  the  time  when  accidents  in  and  attacks  on 
the  munitions-plants  were  of  common  occurrence. 

"Why,"  went  on  MacLeod,  "the  whole  business  is 
as  mysterious  as  if  there  were  some  phantom  de- 
stroyer at  work !  The  men  are  so  frightened  that  they 
threaten  to  quit.  Several  have  been  killed.  There's 
something  strange  about  that,  too.  There  are  ugly 
rumors  of  poisonous  gases  being  responsible,  quite 
as  much  as  the  explosions,  though,  so  far,  I've  been 
able  to  find  nothing  in  that  notion." 

"What  sort  of  place  is  it?"  asked  Kennedy,  in- 
terested at  once. 

104 


THE    PHANTOM    DESTROYER 

"Well,  you  see,"  explained  MacLeod,  "since  the 
company's  business  has  increased  so  fast  lately,  it 
has  been  forced  to  erect  a  new  plant.  Perhaps  you 
have  heard  of  the  Old  Grove  Amusement  Park, 
which  failed?  It's  not  far  from  that." 

MacLeod  looked  at  us  inquiringly,  and  Kennedy 
nodded  to  go  on,  though  I  am  sure  neither  of  us  was 
familiar  with  the  place. 

"They've  called  the  new  plant  Nitropolis — rather 
a  neat  name  for  a  powder- works,  don't  you  think?" 
resumed  MacLeod.  "Everything  went  along  all 
right  until  a  few  days  ago.  Then  one  of  the  build- 
ings, a  storehouse,  was  blown  up.  We  couldn't  be 
sure  that  it  was  an  accident,  so  we  redoubled  our 
precautions.  It  was  of  no  use.  That  started  it. 
The  very  next  day  another  building  was  blown  up, 
then  another,  until  now  there  have  been  five  of 
them.  What  may  happen  to-day  Heaven  only 
knows!  I  want  to  get  back  as  soon  as  I  can." 

"Rather  too  frequent,  I  must  admit,  to  be  coin- 
cidences," remarked  Kennedy. 

"No;  they  can't  all  be  accidents,"  asserted  Mac- 
Leod, confidently.  "There's  too  great  regularity  for 
that.  I  think  I've  considered  almost  everything. 
I  don't  see  how  they  can  be  from  bombs  placed  by 
workmen.  At  least,  it's  not  a  bit  likely.  Besides, 
the  explosions  all  occur  in  broad  daylight,  not  at 
night.  We're  very  careful  about  the  men  we  employ, 
and  they're  watched  all  the  time.  The  company  has  a 
guard  of  its  own,  twenty-five  picked  men,  under  me — 
all  honorably  discharged  United  States  army  men." 

"You  have  formed  no  theory  of  your  own?" 
queried  Kennedy. 

105 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

MacLeod  paused,  then  drew  from  his  pocket  the 
clipping  of  a  despatch  from  the  front  in  which  one  of 
the  war  correspondents  reported  the  destruction  of 
wire  entanglements  with  heat  supposed  to  have 
been  applied  by  the  use  of  reflecting  mirrors. 

"I'm  reduced  to  pure  speculation,"  he  remarked. 
"To-day  they  seem  to  be  reviving  all  the  ancient 
practices.  Maybe  some  one  is  going  at  it  like  Ar- 
chimedes." 

"Not  impossible,"  returned  Craig,  handing  back 
the  clipping.  "Buflon  tested  the  probability  of  the 
achievement  of  Archimedes  in  setting  fire  to  the 
ships  of  Marcellus  with  mirrors  and  the  sun's  rays. 
He  constructed  a  composite  mirror  of  a  hundred 
and  twenty-eight  plane  mirrors,  and  with  it  he  was 
able  to  ignite  wood  at  two  hundred  and  ten  feet. 
However,  I  shrewdly  suspect  that,  even  if  this  story 
is  true,  they  are  using  hydrogen  or  acetylene  flares 
over  there.  But  none  of  these  things  would  be 
feasible  in  your  case.  You'd  know  it." 

"Could  it  be  some  one  who  is  projecting  a  deadly 
wireless  force  which  causes  the  explosions?"  I  put 
in,  mindful  of  a  previous  case  of  Kennedy's.  "We 
all  know  that  inventors  have  been  working  for  years 
on  the  idea  of  making  explosives  obsolete  and  guns 
junk.  If  some  one  has  hit  on  a  way  of  guiding  an 
electric  wave  through  the  air  and  concentrating 
power  at  a  point,  munitions-plants  could  be  wiped 
out." 

MacLeod  looked  anxiously  from  me  to  Kennedy, 
but  Craig  betrayed  nothing  by  his  face  except  his 
interest. 

"Sometimes  I  have  imagined  I  heard  a  peculiar, 
1 06 


THE    PHANTOM    DESTROYER 

faint,  whirring  noise  in  the  air,"  he  remarked, 
thoughtfully.  "I  thought  of  having  the  men  on 
the  watch  for  air-ships,  but  they've  never  seen  a 
trace  of  one.  It  might  be  some  power  either  like 
this,"  he  added,  shaking  the  clipping,  "or  like  that 
which  Mr.  Jameson  suggests." 

"It's  something  like  that  you  meant,  I  presume, 
when  you  called  it  a  'phantom  destroyer'  a  moment 
ago?"  asked  Kennedy. 

MacLeod  nodded. 

"If  you're  interested,"  he  pursued,  hastily,  "and 
feel  like  going  down  there  to  look  things  over,  I 
think  the  best  place  for  you  to  go  would  be  to  the 
Sneddens'.  They're  some  people  who  have  seen  a 
chance  to  make  a  little  money  out  of  the  boom. 
Many  visitors  are  now  coming  and  going  on  busi- 
ness connected  with  the  new  works.  They  have 
started  a  boarding-house — or,  rather,  Mrs.  Snedden 
has.  There's  a  daughter,  too,  who  seems  to  be  very 
popular."  Kennedy  glanced  whimsically  at  me. 

"Well,  Walter,"  he  remarked,  tentatively,  "en- 
tirely aside  from  the  young  lady,  this  ought  to  make 
a  good  story  for  the  Star." 

"Indeed  it  ought!"  I  replied,  enthusiastically. 

"Then  you'll  go  down  to  Nitropolis?"  queried 
MacLeod,  eagerly.  "You  can  catch  a  train  that 
will  get  you  there  about  noon.  And  the  company 
will  pay  you  well." 

"MacLeod,  with  the  mystery,  Miss  Snedden,  and 
the  remuneration,  you  are  irresistible,"  smiled 
Kennedy. 

"Thank  you,"  returned  the  detective.  "You 
won't  regret  it.  I  can't  tell  you  how  much  relieved 

107 


THE    TREASURE-TRAIN 

I  feel  to  have  some  one  else,  and,  above  all,  yourself, 
on  the  case.  You  can  get  a  train  in  half  an  hour. 
I  think  it  would  be  best  for  you  to  go  as  though  you 
had  no  connection  with  me — at  least  for  the  present." 

Kennedy  agreed,  and  MacLeod  excused  himself, 
promising  to  be  on  the  train,  although  not  to  ride 
with  us,  in  case  we  should  be  the  target  of  too 
inquisitive  eyes. 

For  a  few  moments,  while  our  taxicab  was  coming, 
Kennedy  considered  thoughtfully  what  the  company 
detective  had  said.  By  the  time  the  vehicle  arrived 
he  had  hurriedly  packed  up  some  apparatus  in  two 
large  grips,  one  of  which  it  fell  to  my  lot  to  carry. 

The  trip  down  to  Nitropolis  was  uninteresting,  and 
we  arrived  at  the  little  station  shortly  after  noon. 
MacLeod  was  on  the  train,  but  did  not  speak  to  us, 
and  it  was  perhaps  just  as  well,  for  the  cabmen  and 
others  hanging  about  the  station  were  keenly  watch- 
ing new  arrivals,  and  any  one  with  MacLeod  must 
have  attracted  attention.  We  selected  or  were, 
rather,  selected  by  one  of  the  cabmen  and  driven 
immediately  to  the  Snedden  house.  Our  cover  was, 
as  Craig  and  I  had  decided,  to  pose  as  two  news- 
paper men  from  New  York,  that  being  the  easiest 
way  to  account  for  any  undue  interest  we  might 
show  in  things. 

,The  powder-company's  plant  was  situated  on  a 
large  tract  of  land  which  was  surrounded  by  a 
barbed-wire  fence,  six  feet  high  and  constructed  in 
a  manner  very  similar  to  the  fences  used  in  protect- 
ing prison-camps  in  war-times.  At  various  places 
along  the  several  miles  of  fence  gates  were  placed, 
with  armed  guards.  Many  other  features  were  sug- 

108 


THE    PHANTOM    DESTROYER 

gestive  of  war-times.  One  that  impressed  us  most 
was  that  each  workman  had  to  carry  a  pass  similar, 
almost,  to  a  passport.  This  entire  fence,  we  learned, 
was  patrolled  day  and  night  by  armed  guards. 

A  mile  or  so  from  the  plant,  or  just  outside  the 
main  gate,  quite  a  settlement  had  grown  up,  like  a 
mushroom,  almost  overnight  —  the  product  of  a 
flood  of  new  money.  Originally,  there  had  been  only 
one  house  for  some  distance  about — that  of  the 
Sneddens.  But  now  there  were  scores  of  houses, 
mostly  those  of  officials  and  managers,  some  of  them 
really  pretentious  affairs.  MacLeod  himself  lived 
in  one  of  them,  and  we  could  see  him  ahead  of  us, 
being  driven  home. 

The  workmen  lived  farther  along  the  line,  in  a 
sort  of  company  town,  which  at  present  greatly 
resembled  a  Western  mining-camp,  though  ulti- 
mately it  was  to  be  a  bungalow  town. 

Just  at  present,  however,  it  was  the  Snedden 
house  that  interested  us  most,  for  we  felt  the  need 
of  getting  ourselves  established  in  this  strange  com- 
munity. It  was  an  old-fashioned  farm-house  and 
had  been  purchased  very  cheaply  by  Snedden  several 
years  before.  He  had  altered  it  and  brought  it  up 
to  date,  and  the  combination  of  old  and  new  proved 
(to  be  typical  of  the  owner  as  well  as  of  the  house. 

Kennedy  carried  off  well  the  critical  situation  of 
our  introduction,  and  we  found  ourselves  welcomed 
rather  than  scrutinized  as  intruders. 

Garfield  Snedden  was  much  older  than  his  second 
wife,  Ida.  In  fact,  she  did  not  seem  to  be  much  older 
than  Snedden 's  daughter  Gertrude,  whom  MacLeod 
had  already  mentioned — a  dashing  young  lady,  never 

109 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

intended  by  nature  to  vegetate  in  the  rural  seclusion 
that  her  father  had  sought  before  the  advent  of  the 
powder-works.  Mrs.  Snedden  was  one  of  those 
capable  women  who  can  manage  a  man  without  his 
knowing  it.  Indeed,  one  felt  that  Snedden,  who  was 
somewhat  of  both  student  and  dreamer,  needed  a 
manager. 

"I'm  glad  your  train  was  on  time,"  bustled  Mrs. 
Snedden.  ' '  Luncheon  will  be  ready  in  a  few  moments 
now." 

We  had  barely  time  to  look  about  before  Gertrude 
led  us  into  the  dining-room  and  introduced  us  to 
the  other  boarders. 

Knowing  human  nature,  Kennedy  was  careful  to 
be  struck  with  admiration  and  amazement  at  every- 
thing we  had  seen  in  our  brief  whirl  through  Nitrop- 
olis.  It  was  not  a  difficult  or  entirely  assumed  feel- 
ing, either,  when  one  realized  that,  only  a  few  short 
months  before,  the  region  had  been  nothing  better 
than  an  almost  hopeless  wilderness  of  scrub-pines. 

We  did  not  have  to  wait  long  before  the  subject 
uppermost  in  our  minds  was  brought  up — the  ex- 
plosions. 

Among  the  boarders  there  were  at  least  two  who, 
from  the  start,  promised  to  be  interesting  as  well  as 
important.  One  was  a  tall,  slender  chap  named 
Garretson,  whose  connection  with  the  company,  I 
gathered  from  the  conversation,  took  him  often  on 
important  matters  to  New  York.  The  other  was 
an  older  man,  Jackson,  who  seemed  to  be  connected 
with  the  management  of  the  works,  a  reticent  fellow, 
more  given  to  listening  to  others  than  to  talking 
himself. 

no 


THE    PHANTOM    DESTROYER 

"Nothing  has  happened  so  far  to-day,  anyhow," 
remarked  Garretson,  tapping  the  back  of  his  chair 
with  his  knuckle,  as  a  token  of  respect  for  that 
evil  spirit  who  seems  to  be  exorcised  by  knocking 
wood. 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  Gertrude,  with  a  little  half-sup- 
pressed shudder,  "I  do  hope  those  terrible  explosions 
are  at  last  over!" 

"If  I  had  my  way,"  asserted  Garretson,  savagely, 
"I'd  put  this  town  under  martial  law  until  they  were 
over." 

"It  may  come  to  that,"  put  in  Jackson,  quietly. 

"Quite  in  keeping  with  the  present  tendency  of 
the  age,"  agreed  Snedden,  in  a  tone  of  philosophical 
disagreement. 

"I  don't  think  it  makes  much  difference  how  you 
accomplish  the  result,  Garfield,"  chimed  in  his  wife, 
"as  long  as  you  accomplish  it,  and  it  is  one  that 
should  be  accomplished." 

Snedden  retreated  into  the  refuge  of  silence. 
Though  this  was  only  a  bit  of  the  conversation,  we 
soon  found  out  that  he  was  an  avowed  pacifist. 
Garretson,  on  the  other  hand,  was  an  ardent  mili- 
tarist, a  good  deal  of  a  fire-eater.  I  wondered  whether 
there  might  not  be  a  good  deal  of  the  poseur  about 
him,  too. 

It  needed  no  second  sight  to  discover  that  both  he 
and  Gertrude  were  deeply  interested  in  each  other. 
Garretson  was  what  Broadway  would  call  "a  live 
one,"  and,  though  there  is  nothing  essentially  wrong 
in  that,  I  fancied  that  I  detected,  now  and  then,  an 
almost  maternal  solicitude  on  the  part  of  her  step- 
mother, who  seemed  to  be  watching  both  the  young 

in 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

man  and  her  husband  alternately.  Once  Jackson 
and  Mrs.  Snedden  exchanged  glances.  There  seemed 
to  be  some  understanding  between  them. 

The  time  to  return  to  the  works  was  approaching, 
and  we  all  rose.  Somehow,  Gertrude  and  Garretson 
seemed  naturally  to  gravitate  toward  the  door  to- 
gether. 

Some  distance  from  the  house  there  was  a  large 
barn.  Part  of  it  had  been  turned  into  a  garage, 
where  Garretson  kept  a  fast  car.  Jackson,  also,  had 
a  roadster.  In  fact,  in  this  new  community,  with 
its  superabundant  new  wealth,  everybody  had  a  car. 

Kennedy  and  I  sauntered  out  after  the  rest.  As 
we  turned  an  angle  of  the  house  we  came  suddenly 
upon  Garretson  in  his  racer,  talking  to  Gertrude. 
The  crunch  of  the  gravel  under  our  feet  warned 
them  before  we  saw  them,  but  not  before  we  could 
catch  a  glimpse  of  a  warning  ringer  on  the  rosy 
lips  of  Gertrude.  As  she  saw  us  she  blushed  ever 
so  slightly. 

1 '  You'll  be  late !"  she  cried,  hastily.  ' '  Mr.  Jackson 
has  been  gone  five  minutes." 

"On  foot,"  returned  Garretson,  nonchalantly. 
"I'll  overtake  him  in  thirty  seconds."  Nevertheless, 
he  did  not  wait  longer,  but  swung  up  the  road  at  a 
pace  which  was  the  admiration  of  all  speed-loving 
Nitropolitans. 

Craig  had  ordered  our  taxicab  driver  to  stop  for 
us  after  lunch,  and,  without  exciting  suspicion, 
managed  to  stow  away  the  larger  part  of  the  contents 
of  our  grips  in  his  car. 

Still  without  openly  showing  our  connection  with 
MacLeod,  Kennedy  sought  out  the  manager  of  the 

112 


THE    PHANTOM    DESTROYER 

works,  and,  though  scores  of  correspondents  and 
reporters  from  various  newspapers  had  vainly  ap- 
plied for  permission  to  inspect  the  plant,  somehow 
we  seemed  to  receive  the  freedom  of  the  place  and 
without  exciting  suspicion. 

Craig's  first  move  was  to  look  the  plant  over.  As 
we  approached  it  our  attention  was  instantly  at- 
tracted to  the  numerous  one-story  galvanized-iron 
buildings  that  appeared  to  stretch  endlessly  in  every 
direction.  They  seemed  to  be  of  a  temporary  nature, 
though  the  power-plants,  offices,  and  other  neces- 
sary buildings  were  very  substantially  built.  The 
framework  of  the  factory-buildings  was  nothing  but 
wood,  covered  by  iron  sheathing,  and  even  the  sides 
seemed  to  be  removable.  The  floors,  however,  were 
of  concrete. 

"They  serve  their  purpose  well,"  observed  Ken- 
nedy, as  we  picked  our  way  about.  "Explosions  at 
powder-mills  are  frequent,  anyhow.  After  an  ex- 
plosion there  is  very  little  debris  to  clear  away,  as 
you  may  imagine.  These  buildings  are  easily  re- 
paired or  replaced,  and  they  keep  a  large  force  of 
men  for  these  purposes,  as  well  as  materials  for  any 
emergency." 

One  felt  instinctively  the  hazard  of  the  employ- 
ment. Everywhere  were  signs  telling  what  not  and 
what  to  do.  One  that  stuck  in  my  mind  was,  "It 
is  better  to  be  careful  than  sorry."  Throughout  the 
plant  at  frequent  intervals  were  first-aid  stations 
with  kits  for  all  sorts  of  accidents,  including  respi- 
rators, for  workmen  were  often  overcome  by  ether 
or  alcohol  fumes.  Everything  was  done  to  minimize 
the  hazard,  yet  one  could  not  escape  the  conviction 

"3 


THE    TREASURE-TRAIN 

that  human  life  and  limb  were  as  much  a  cost  of 
production  in  this  industry  as  fuel  and  raw  material. 

Once,  in  our  wanderings  about  the  plant,  I  recall 
we  ran  across  both  Garretson  and  Jackson  in  one  of 
the  offices.  They  did  not  see  us,  but  seemed  to  be 
talking  very  earnestly  about  something.  What  it 
was  we  could  not  guess,  but  this  time  it  seemed  to 
be  Jackson  who  was  doing  most  of  the  talking. 
Kennedy  watched  them  as  they  parted. 

"There's  something  peculiar  under  the  surface 
with  those  people  at  the  boarding-house,"  was  all 
he  observed.  "Come;  over  there,  about  an  eighth 
of  a  mile,  I  think  I  see  evidences  of  the  latest  of  the 
explosions.  Let's  look  at  it." 

MacLeod  had  evidently  reasoned  that,  sooner  or 
later,  Kennedy  would  appear  in  this  part  of  the 
grounds,  and  as  we  passed  one  of  the  shops  he 
joined  us. 

"You  mentioned  something  about  rumors  of 
poisonous  gases,"  hinted  Craig,  as  we  walked  along. 

"Yes,"  assented  MacLeod;  "I  don't  know  what 
there  is  in  it.  I  suppose  you  know  that  there  is  a 
very  poisonous  gas,  carbon  monoxide,  or  carbonic 
oxide,  formed  in  considerable  quantity  by  the  ex- 
plosion of  several  of  the  powders  commonly  used  in 
shells.  The  gas  has  the  curious  power  of  combining 
with  the  blood  and  refusing  to  let  go,  thus  keeping 
out  the  oxygen  necessary  for  life.  It  may  be  that 
that  is  what  accounts  for  what  we've  seen — that  it  is 
actual  poisoning  to  death  of  men  not  killed  by  the 
immediate  explosion." 

We  had  reached  the  scene  of  the  previous  day's 
disaster.  No  effort  had  yet  been  made  to  clear  it 

114 


THE    PHANTOM    DESTROYER 

up.  Kennedy  went  over  it  carefully.  What  it  was 
he  found  I  do  not  know,  but  he  had  not  spent  much 
time  before  he  turned  to  me. 

"Walter,"  he  directed,  "I  wish  you  would  go  back 
to  the  office  near  the  gate,  where  I  left  that  para- 
phernalia we  brought  down.  Carry  it  over — let  me 
see — there's  an  open  space  there  on  that  knoll.  I'll 
join  you  there." 

Whatever  was  in  the  packages  was  both  bulky 
and  heavy,  and  I  was  glad  to  reach  the  hillside  he 
had  indicated. 

Craig  was  waiting  for  me  there  with  MacLeod, 
and  at  once  opened  the  packages.  From  them  he 
took  a  thin  steel  rod,  which  he  set  up  in  the  center 
of  the  open  space.  To  it  he  attached  a  frame  and  to 
the  frame  what  looked  like  four  reversed  mega- 
phones. Attached  to  the  frame,  which  was  tubular, 
was  an  oak  box  with  a  little  arrangement  of  hard 
rubber  and  metal  which  fitted  into  the  ears.  For 
some  time  Kennedy's  face  wore  a  set,  far-away 
expression,  as  if  he  were  studying  something. 

"The  explosions  seem  always  to  occur  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  afternoon,"  observed  MacLeod,  fidgeting 
apprehensively. 

Kennedy  motioned  petulantly  for  silence.  Then 
suddenly  he  pulled  the  tubes  out  of  his  ears  and 
gazed  about  sharply. 

"There's  something  in  the  air!"  he  cried.  "I  can 
hear  it!" 

MacLeod  and  I  strained  our  eyes.  There  was 
nothing  visible. 

"This  is  an  anti-aircraft  listening-post,  such  as  the 
French  use,"  explained  Craig,  hurriedly.  "Between 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

the  horns  and  the  microphone  in  the  box  you  can 
catch  the  hum  of  an  engine,  even  when  it  is  muffled. 
If  there's  an  aeroplane  or  a  Zeppelin  about,  this 
thing  would  locate  it." 

Still,  there  was  nothing  that  we  could  see,  though 
now  the  sound  was  just  perceptible  to  the  ear  if  one 
strained  his  attention  a  bit.  I  listened.  It  was  plain 
in  the  detector;  yet  nothing  was  visible.  What 
strange  power  could  it  be  that  we  could  not  see  or 
feel  in  broad  daylight? 

Just  then  came  a  low  rumbling,  and  then  a  terrific 
roar  from  the  direction  of  the  plant.  We  swung 
about  in  time  to  see  a  huge  cloud  of  debris  lifted 
literally  into  the  air  above  the  tree-tops  and  dropped 
to  earth  again.  The  silence  that  succeeded  the  ex- 
plosion was  eloquent.  The  phantom  destroyer  had 
delivered  his  blow  again. 

"The  distillery — where  we  make  the  denatured 
alcohol!"  cried  MacLeod,  gazing  with  tense  face  as 
from  other  buildings,  we  could  see  men  pouring 
forth,  panic-stricken,  and  the  silence  was  punctured 
by  shouts.  Kennedy  bent  over  his  detector. 

"That  same  mysterious  buzzing,"  he  muttered, 
"only  fainter." 

Together  we  hastened  now  toward  the  distillery, 
another  of  those  corrugated-iron  buildings.  It  had 
been  completely  demolished.  Here  and  there  lay  a 
dark,  still  mass.  I  shuddered.  They  were  men! 

As  we  ran  toward  the  ruin  we  crossed  a  baseball- 
field  which  the  company  had  given  the  men.  I  looked 
back  for  Kennedy.  He  had  paused  at  the  wire  back- 
stop behind  the  catcher.  Something  caught  in  the 
wires  interested  him.  By  the  time  I  reached  him 

116 


THE    PHANTOM    DESTROYER 

he  had  secured  it — a  long,  slender  metal  tube,  clev- 
erly weighted  so  as  to  fall  straight. 

"Not  a  hundred  per  cent,  of  hits,  evidently,"  he 
muttered.  "Still,  one  was  enough." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  MacLeod. 

"An  incendiary  pastille.  On  contact,  the  nose 
burns  away  anything  it  hits,  goes  right  through  cor- 
rugated iron.  It  carries  a  charge  of  thermit  ignited 
by  this  piece  of  magnesium  ribbon.  You  know  what 
thermit  will  penetrate  with  its  thousands  of  degrees 
of  heat.  Only  the  nose  of  this  went  through  the 
netting  and  never  touched  a  thing.  This  didn't 
explode  anything,  but  another  one  did.  Thousands 
of  gallons  of  alcohol  did  the  rest." 

Kennedy  had  picked  up  his  other  package  as  we 
ran,  and  was  now  busily  unwrapping  it.  I  looked 
about  at  the  crowd  that  had  collected,  and  saw  that 
there  was  nothing  we  could  do  to  help.  Once  I 
caught  sight  of  Gertrude's  face.  She  was  pale,  and 
seemed  eagerly  searching  for  some  one.  Then,  in 
the  crowd,  I  lost  her.  I  turned  to  MacLeod.  He 
was  plainly  overwhelmed.  Kennedy  was  grimly 
silent  and  at  work  on  something  he  had  jammed  into 
the  ground. 

"Stand  back!"  he  cautioned,  as  he  touched  a  match 
to  the  thing.  With  a  muffled  explosion,  something 
whizzed  and  shrieked  up  into  the  air  like  a  sky- 
rocket. 

Far  above,  I  could  now  see  a  thing  open  out  like 
a  parachute,  while  below  it  trailed  something  that 
might  have  been  the  stick  of  the  rocket.  Eagerly 
Kennedy  followed  the  parachute  as  the  wind  wafted 
it  along  and  it  sank  slowly  to  the  earth.  When,  at 
9  117 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

last,  he  recovered  it  I  saw  that  between  the  parachute 
and  the  stick  was  fastened  a  small,  peculiar  camera. 

"A  Scheimpflug  multiple  camera,"  he  explained 
as  he  seized  it  almost  ravenously.  "Is  there  a  place 
in  town  where  I  can  get  the  films  in  this  developed 
quickly?" 

MacLeod,  himself  excited  now,  hurried  us  from 
the  scene  of  the  explosion  to  a  local  drug-store,  which 
combined  most  of  the  functions  of  a  general  store, 
even  being  able  to  improvise  a  dark-room  in  which 
Kennedy  could  work. 

It  was  some  time  after  the  excitement  over  the 
explosion  had  quieted  down  that  MacLeod  and  I, 
standing  impatiently  before  the  drug-store,  saw 
Snedden  wildly  tearing  down  the  street  in  his  car. 
He  saw  us  and  pulled  up  at  the  curb  with  a  jerk. 

"Where's  Gertrude?"  he  shouted,  wildly.  "Has 
any  one  seen  my  daughter?" 

Breathlessly  he  explained  that  he  had  been  out, 
had  returned  to  find  his  house  deserted,  Gertrude 
gone,  his  wife  gone,  even  Jackson's  car  gone  from 
the  barn.  He  had  been  to  the  works.  Neither 
Garretson  nor  Jackson  had  been  seen  since  the  ex- 
citement of  the  explosion,  they  told  him.  Garretson's 
racer  was  gone,  too.  There  seemed  to  have  been  a 
sort  of  family  explosion,  also. 

Kennedy  had  heard  the  loud  talking  and  had  left 
his  work  to  the  druggist  to  carry  on  and  joined  us. 
There  was  no  concealment  now  of  our  connection 
with  MacLeod,  for  it  was  to  him  that  every  one  in 
town  came  when  in  trouble. 

In  almost  no  time,  so  accurately  did  he  keep  his 
fingers  on  the  fevered  pulse  of  Nitropolis,  MacLeod 


THE    PHANTOM    DESTROYER 

had  found  out  that  Gertrude  had  been  seen  driving 
away  from  the  company's  grounds  with  some  one  in 
Garretson's  car,  probably  Garretson  himself.  Jack- 
son had  been  seen  hurrying  down  the  street.  Some 
one  else  had  seen  Ida  Snedden  in  Jackson's  car, 
alone. 

Meanwhile,  over  the  wire,  MacLeod  had  sent  out 
descriptions  of  the  four  people  and  the  two  cars,  in 
the  hope  of  intercepting  them  before  they  could  be 
plunged  into  the  obscurity  of  any  near-by  city. 
Not  content  with  that,  MacLeod  and  Kennedy 
started  out  in  the  former's  car,  while  I  climbed  in 
with  Snedden,  and  we  began  a  systematic  search 
of  the  roads  out  of  Nitropolis. 

As  we  sped  along,  I  could  not  help  feeling,  though 
I  said  nothing,  that,  somehow,  the  strange  dis- 
appearances must  have  something  to  do  with  the 
mysterious  phantom  destroyer.  I  did  not  tell  even 
Snedden  about  the  little  that  Kennedy  had  dis- 
covered, for  I  had  learned  that  it  was  best  to  let 
Craig  himself  tell,  at  his  own  time  and  in  his  own  way. 
But  the  man  seemed  frantic  in  his  search,  and  I 
could  not  help  the  impression  that  there  was  some- 
thing, perhaps  only  a  suspicion,  that  he  knew  which 
might  shed  some  light. 

We  were  coming  down  the  river,  or,  rather,  the 
bay,  after  a  fruitless  search  of  unfrequented  roads 
and  were  approaching  the  deserted  Old  Grove 
Amusement  Park,  to  which  excursions  used,  years 
ago,  to  come  in  boats.  No  one  could  make  it  pay, 
and  it  was  closed  and  going  to  ruin.  There  had  been 
some  hint  that  Garretson's  racer  might  have  dis- 
appeared down  this  unfrequented  river  road. 

119 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

As  we  came  to  a  turn  in  the  road,  we  could  see 
Kennedy  and  MacLeod  in  their  car,  coming  up. 
Instead  of  keeping  on,  however,  they  turned  into 
the  grove,  Kennedy  leaning  far  over  the  running- 
board  as  MacLeod  drove  slowly,  following  his 
directions,  as  though  Craig  were  tracing  something. 

With  a  hurried  exclamation  of  surprise,  Snedden 
gave  our  car  the  gas  and  shot  ahead,  swinging  around 
after  them.  They  were  headed,  following  some  kind 
of  tire-tracks,  toward  an  old  merry-go-round  that 
was  dismantled  and  all  boarded  up.  They  heard 
us  coming  and  stopped. 

"Has  any  one  told  you  that  Garretson's  car  went 
down  the  river  road,  too?"  called  Snedden,  anxiously. 

"No;  but  some  one  thought  he  saw  Jackson's 
car  come  down  here,"  called  back  MacLeod. 

"Jackson's?"  exclaimed  Snedden. 

"Maybe  both  are  right,"  I  ventured,  as  we  came 
closer.  "What  made  you  turn  in  here?'" 

"Kennedy  thought  he  saw  fresh  tire- tracks 
running  into  the  grove." 

We  were  all  out  of  our  cars  by  this  time,  and 
examining  the  soft  roadway  with  Craig.  It  was  evi- 
dent to  any  one  that  a  car  had  been  run  in,  and  not 
so  very  long  ago,  in  the  direction  of  the  merry-go- 
round. 

We  followed  the  tracks  on  foot,  bending  about  the 
huge  circle  of  a  building  until  we  came  to  the  side 
away  from  the  road.  The  tracks  seemed  to  run 
right  in  under  the  boards. 

Kennedy  approached  and  touched  the  boards. 
They  were  loose.  Some  one  had  evidently  been 
there,  had  taken  them  down,  and  put  them  up. 

120 


THE    PHANTOM    DESTROYER 

In  fact,  by  the  marks  on  them,  it  seemed  as  though 
he  had  made  a  practice  of  doing  so. 

MacLeod  and  Kennedy  unhooked  the  boarding, 
while  Snedden  looked  on  in  a  sort  of  daze.  They 
had  taken  down  only  two  or  three  sections,  which 
indicated  that  that  whole  side  might  similarly  be 
removed,  when  I  heard  a  low,  startled  exclamation 
from  Snedden. 

We  peered  in.  There,  in  the  half-light  of  the 
gloomy  interior,  we  could  see  a  car.  Before  we  knew 
it  Snedden  had  darted  past  us.  An  instant  later  I 
distinguished  what  his  more  sensitive  eye  had  seen — 
a  woman,  all  alone  in  the  car,  motionless. 

"Ida!"  he  cried. 

There  was  no  answer. 

"She— she's  dead!"  he  shouted. 

It  was  only  too  true.  There  was  Ida  Snedden, 
seated  in  Jackson's  car  in  the  old  deserted  building, 
all  shut  up — dead. 

Yet  her  face  was  as  pink  as  if  she  were  alive  and 
the  blood  had  been  whipped  into  her  cheeks  by  a 
walk  in  the  cold  wind. 

We  looked  at  one  another,  at  a  loss.  How  did  she 
get  there — and  why?  She  must  have  come  there 
voluntarily.  No  one  had  seen  any  one  else  with  her 
in  the  car. 

Snedden  was  now  almost  beside  himself. 

"Misfortunes  never  come  singly,"  he  wailed. 
"My  daughter  Gertrude  gone — now  my  wife  dead. 
Confound  that  young  fellow  Garretson — and  Jack- 
son, too!  Where  are  they?  Why  have  they  fled? 
The  scoundrels — they  have  stolen  my  whole  family. 
Oh,  what  shall  I  do?  what  shall  I  do?" 

121 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

Trying  to  quiet  Snedden,  at  the  same  time  we 
began  to  look  about  the  building.  On  one  side  was 
a  small  stove,  in  which  were  still  the  dying  coals  of  a 
fire.  Near  by  were  a  work-bench,  some  tools,  pieces 
of  wire,  and  other  material.  Scattered  about  were 
pieces  of  material  that  looked  like  celluloid.  Some 
one  evidently  used  the  place  as  a  secret  workshop. 
Kennedy  picked  up  a  piece  of  the  celluloid-like  stuff 
and  carefully  touched  a  match  to  it.  It  did  not  burn 
rapidly  as  celluloid  does,  and  Craig  seemed  more 
than  ever  interested.  MacLeod  himself  was  no  mean 
detective.  Accustomed  to  action,  he  had  an  idea 
of  what  to  do. 

"Wait  here!"  he  called  back,  dashing  out.  "I'm 
going  to  the  nearest  house  up  the  road  for  help.  I'll 
be  back  in  a  moment." 

We  heard  him  back  and  turn  his  car  and  shoot 
away.  Meanwhile,  Kennedy  was  looking  over  care- 
fully Jackson's  roadster.  He  tapped  the  gas-tank  in 
the  rear,  then  opened  it.  There  was  not  a  drop  of 
gas  in  it.  He  lifted  up  the  hood  and  looked  inside 
at  the  motor.  Whatever  he  saw  there,  he  said  noth- 
ing. Finally,  by  siphoning  some  gas  from  Snedden's 
tank  and  making  some  adjustments,  he  seemed  to 
have  the  car  in  a  condition  again  for  it  to  run.  He 
was  just  about  to  start  it  when  MacLeod  returned, 
carrying  a  canary-bird  in  a  cage. 

"I've  telephoned  to  town,"  he  announced.  "Some 
one  will  be  here  soon  now.  Meanwhile,  an  idea 
occurred  to  me,  and  I  borrowed  this  bird.  Let  me 
see  whether  the  idea  is  any  good." 

Kennedy,  by  this  time,  had  started  the  engine. 
MacLeod  placed  the  bright  little  songster  near  the 

122 


THE    PHANTOM    DESTROYER 

stove  on  the  work-bench  and  began  to  watch  it 
narrowly. 

More  than  ever  up  in  the  air  over  the  mystery,  I 
could  only  watch  Kennedy  and  MacLeod,  each 
following  his  own  lines. 

It  might,  perhaps,  have  been  ten  minutes  after 
MacLeod  returned,  and  during  that  time  he  had 
never  taken  his  eyes  off  the  bird,  when  I  began  to 
feel  a  little  drowsy.  A  word  from  MacLeod  roused 
me. 

"There's  carbon  monoxide  in  the  air,  Kennedy!" 
he  exclaimed.  "You  know  how  this  gas  affects 
birds." 

Kennedy  looked  over  intently.  The  canary  had 
begun  to  show  evident  signs  of  distress  over  some- 
thing. 

"It  must  be  that  this  stove  is  defective,"  pursued 
MacLeod,  picking  up  the  poor  little  bird  and  carry- 
ing it  quickly  into  the  fresh  air,  where  it  could  regain 
its  former  liveliness.  Then,  when  he  returned,  he 
added,  "There  must  be  some  defect  in  the  stove  or 
the  draught  that  makes  it  send  out  the  poisonous 
gas." 

"There's  some  gas,"  agreed  Kennedy.  "It  must 
have  cleared  away  mostly,  though,  or  we  couldn't 
stand  it  ourselves." 

Craig  continued  to  look  about  the  car  and  the 
building,  in  the  vain  hope  of  discovering  some  other 
clue.  Had  Mrs.  Snedden  been  killed  by  the  carbonic 
oxide?  Was  it  a  case  of  gas  poisoning?  Then,  too, 
why  had  she  been  here  at  all?  Who  had  shut  her 
up?  Had  she  been  overcome  first  and,  in  a  stupor, 
been  unable  to  move  to  save  herself?  Above  all, 

123 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

what  had  this  to  do  with  the  mysterious  phantom 
slayer  that  had  wrecked  so  much  of  the  works  in  less 
than  a  week? 

It  was  quite  late  in  the  afternoon  when,  at  last, 
people  came  from  the  town  and  took  away  both  the 
body  of  Mrs.  Snedden  and  Jackson's  car.  Snedden 
could  only  stare  and  work  his  fingers,  and  after  we 
had  seen  him  safely  in  the  care  of  some  one  we  could 
trust  Kennedy,  MacLeod,  and  I  climbed  into  Mac- 
Leod's car  silently. 

"It's  too  deep  for  me,"  acknowledged  MacLeod. 
"What  shall  we  do  next?" 

"Surely  that  fellow  must  have  my  pictures  de- 
veloped by  this  time,"  considered  Kennedy.  "Shoot 
back  there." 

"They  came  out  beautifully — all  except  one,"  re- 
ported the  druggist,  who  was  somewhat  of  a  camera 
fiend  himself.  "That's  a  wonderful  system,  sir." 

Kennedy  thanked  him  for  his  trouble  and  took 
the  prints.  With  care  he  pieced  them  together,  until 
he  had  several  successive  panoramas  of  the  country 
taken  from  various  elevations  of  the  parachute. 
Then,  with  a  magnifying-glass,  he  went  over  each 
section  minutely. 

"Look  at  that!"  he  pointed  out  at  last  with  the 
sharp  tip  of  a  pencil  on  one  picture. 

In  what  looked  like  an  open  space  among  some 
trees  was  a  tiny  figure  of  a  man.  It  seemed  as  if  he 
were  hacking  at  something  with  an  ax.  What  the 
something  was  did  not  appear  in  the  picture. 

"I  should  say  that  it  was  half  a  mile,  perhaps  a 
mile,  farther  away  than  that  grove,"  commented 
Kennedy,  making  a  rough  calculation. 

124 


THE    PHANTOM    DESTROYER 

"On  the  old  Davis  farm,"  considered  MacLeod. 
"Look  and  see  if  you  can't  make  out  the  ruins  of  a 
house  somewhere  near-by.  It  was  burned  many 
years  ago." 

"Yes,  yes,"  returned  Kennedy,  excitedly;  "there's 
the  place!  Do  you  think  we  can  get  there  in  a  car 
before  it's  dark?" 

"Easily,"  replied  MacLeod. 

It  was  only  a  matter  of  minutes  before  we  three 
were  poking  about  in  a  tangle  of  wood  and  field, 
seeking  to  locate  the  spot  where  Kennedy's  ap- 
paratus had  photographed  the  lone  axman. 

At  last,  in  a  large,  cleared  field,  we  came  upon  a 
most  peculiar  heap  of  debris.  As  nearly  as  I  could 
make  out,  it  was  a  pile  of  junk,  but  most  interesting 
junk.  Practically  all  of  it  consisted  in  broken  bits 
of  the  celluloid-like  stuff  we  had  seen  in  the  aban- 
doned building.  Twisted  inextricably  about  were 
steel  wires  and  bits  of  all  sorts  of  material.  In  the 
midst  of  the  wreckage  was  something  that  looked 
for  all  the  world  like  the  remains  of  a  gas-motor. 
It  was  not  rusted,  either,  which  indicated  that  it  had 
been  put  there  recently. 

As  he  looked  at  it,  Craig's  face  displayed  a  smile 
of  satisfaction. 

"Looks  as  though  it  might  have  been  an  aeroplane 
of  the  tractor  type,"  he  vouchsafed,  finally. 

"Surely  there  couldn't  have  been  an  accident," 
objected  MacLeod.  "No  aviator  could  have  lived 
through  it,  and  there's  no  body." 

"No;  it  was  purposely  destroyed,"  continued 
Craig.  "It  was  landed  here  from  somewhere  else 
for  that  purpose.  That  was  what  the  man  in  the 

125 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

picture  was  doing  with  the  ax.  After  the  last 
explosion  something  happened.  He  brought  the 
machine  here  to  destroy  the  evidence." 

"But,"  persisted  MacLeod,  "if  there  had  been  an 
aeroplane  hovering  about  we  should  have  seen  it  in 
the  air,  passing  over  the  works  at  the  time  of  the 
explosion." 

Kennedy  picked  the  pieces,  significantly. 

"Some  one  about  here  has  kept  abreast  of  the 
times,  if  not  ahead.  See;  the  planes  were  of  this 
non-inflammable  celluloid  that  made  it  virtually 
transparent  and  visible  only  at  a  few  hundred  feet 
in  the  air.  The  aviator  could  fly  low  and  so  drop 
those  pastilles  accurately — and  unseen.  The  engine 
had  one  of  those  new  muffler-boxes.  He  would  have 
been  unheard,  too,  except  for  that  delicate  air-ship 
detector." 

MacLeod  and  I  could  but  stare  at  each  other, 
aghast.  Without  a  doubt  it  was  in  the  old  merry- 
go-round  building  that  the  phantom  aviator  had 
established  his  hangar.  What  the  connection  was 
between  the  tragedy  in  the  Snedden  family  and  the 
tragedy  in  the  powder-works  we  did  not  know,  but, 
at  least,  now  we  knew  that  there  was  some  connection. 

It  was  growing  dark  rapidly,  and,  with  some 
difficulty,  we  retraced  our  steps  to  the  point  where 
we  had  left  the  car.  We  whirled  back  to  the  town, 
and,  of  course,  to  the  Snedden  house. 

Snedden  was  sitting  in  the  parlor  when  we  ar- 
rived, by  the  body  of  his  wife,  staring,  speechless, 
straight  before  him,  while  several  neighbors  were 
gathered  about,  trying  to  console  him.  We  had 
scarcely  entered  when  a  messenger-boy  came  up 

126 


THE    PHANTOM    DESTROYER 

the  path  from  the  gate.  Both  Kennedy  and  Mac- 
Leod turned  toward  him,  expecting  some  reply  to 
the  numerous  messages  of  alarm  sent  out  earlier  in 
the  afternoon. 

"Telegram  for  Mrs.  Snedden,"  announced  the 
boy. 

"Mrs.  Snedden?"  queried  Kennedy,  surprised, 
then  quickly:  "Oh  yes,  that's  all  right.  I'll  take 
care  of  it." 

He  signed  for  the  message,  tore  it  open,  and  read 
it.  For  a  moment  his  face,  which  had  been  clouded, 
smoothed  out,  and  he  took  a  couple  of  turns  up  and 
down  the  hall,  as  though  undecided.  Finally  he 
crumpled  the  telegram  abstractedly  and  shoved  it 
into  his  pocket.  We  followed  him  as  he  went  into 
the  parlor  and  stood  for  several  moments,  looking 
fixedly  on  the  strangely  flushed  face  of  Mrs.  Snedden. 

"MacLeod,"  he  said,  finally,  turning  gravely 
toward  us,  and,  for  the  present,  seeming  to  ignore 
the  presence  of  the  others,  "this  amazing  series  of 
crimes  has  brought  home  to  me  forcibly  the  alarm- 
ing possibilities  of  applying  modern  scientific  devices 
to  criminal  uses.  New  modes  and  processes  seem  to 
bring  new  menaces." 

"Like  carbon-monoxide  poisoning?"  suggested 
MacLeod.  "Of  course  it  has  long  been  known  as  a 
harmful  gas,  but — " 

' '  Let  us  see, ' '  interrupted  Kennedy.  ' '  Walter,  you 
were  there  when  I  examined  Jackson's  car.  There 
was  not  a  drop  of  gasolene  in  the  tank,  you  will 
recall.  Even  the  water  in  the  radiator  was  low.  I 
lifted  the  hood.  Some  one  must  have  tampered  with 
the  carburetor.  It  was  adjusted  so  that  the  amount 

127 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

of  air  in  the  mixture  was  reduced.  More  than  that, 
I  don't  know  whether  you  noticed  it  or  not,  but  the 
spark  and  gas  were  set  so  that,  when  I  did  put  gaso- 
lene in  the  tank,  I  had  but  to  turn  the  engine  over 
and  it  went.  In  other  words,  that  car  had  been 
standing  there,  the  engine  running,  until  it  simply 
stopped  for  want  of  fuel."  He  paused  while  we  lis- 
tened intently,  then  resumed.  "The  gas-engine  and 
gas-motor  have  brought  with  them  another  of  those 
unanticipated  menaces  of  which  I  spoke.  Whenever 
the  explosion  of  the  combustible  mixture  is  incom- 
plete or  of  moderated  intensity  a  gas  of  which  little 
is  known  may  be  formed  in  considerable  quantities. 

"In  this  case,  as  in  several  others  that  have  come 
to  my  attention,  vapors  arising  from  the  combustion 
must  have  emitted  certain  noxious  products.  The 
fumes  that  caused  Ida  Snedden's  death  were  not  of 
carbon  monoxide  from  the  stove,  MacLeod.  They 
were  splitting-products  of  gasolene,  which  are  so 
new  to  science  that  they  have  not  yet  been  named. 

"Mrs.  Snedden's  death,  I  may  say  for  the  benefit 
of  the  coroner,  was  due  to  the  absorption  of  some  of 
these  unidentified  gaseous  poisons.  They  are  as 
deadly  as  a  knife-thrust  through  the  heart,  under 
certain  conditions.  Due  to  the  non-oxidation  of 
some  of  the  elements  of  gasolene,  they  escape  from 
the  exhaust  of  every  running  gas-engine.  In  the 
open  air,  where  only  a  whiff  or  two  would  be  in- 
haled now  and  then,  they  are  not  dangerous.  But 
in  a  closed  room  they  may  kill  in  an  incredibly  short 
time.  In  fact,  the  condition  has  given  rise  to  an  en- 
tirely new  phenomenon  which  some  one  has  named 
'petromortis.'  " 

128 


THE    PHANTOM    DESTROYER 

"Petromortis?"  repeated  Snedden,  who,  for  the 
first  time,  began  to  show  interest  in  what  was  going 
on  about  him.  "Then  it  was  an  accident?" 

"I  did  not  say  it  was  an  accident,"  corrected 
Craig.  "  There  is  an  old  adage  that  murder  will  out. 
And  this  expression  of  human  experience  is  only 
repeated  in  what  we  modern  scientific  detectives  are 
doing.  No  man  bent  on  the  commission  of  a  crime 
can  so  arrange  the  circumstances  of  that  crime  that 
it  will  afterward  appear,  point  by  point,  as  an 
accident." 

Kennedy  had  us  all  following  him  breathlessly 
now. 

"I  do  not  consider  it  an  accident,"  he  went  on, 
rapidly  piecing  together  the  facts  as  we  had  found 
them.  "Ida  Snedden  was  killed  because  she  was 
getting  too  close  to  some  one's  secret.  Even  at 
luncheon,  I  could  see  that  she  had  discovered 
Gertrude's  attachment  for  Garretson.  How  she 
heard  that,  following  the  excitement  of  the  explosion 
this  afternoon,  Gertrude  and  Garretson  had  disap- 
peared, I  do  not  pretend  to  know.  But  it  is  evident 
that  she  did  hear,  that  she  went  out  and  took  Jack- 
son's car,  probably  to  pursue  them.  If  we  have 
heard  that  they  went  by  the  river  road,  she  might 
have  heard  it,  too. 

"In  all  probability  she  came  along  just  in  time  to 
surprise  some  one  working  on  the  other  side  of  the 
old  merry-go-round  structure.  There  can  be  no 
reason  to  conceal  the  fact  longer.  From  that  de- 
serted building  some  one  was  daily  launching  a  newly 
designed  invisible  aeroplane.  As  Mrs.  Snedden  came 
along,  she  must  have  been  just  in  time  to  see  that 

129 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

person  at  his  secret  hangar.  What  happened  I  do 
not  know,  except  that  she  must  have  run  the  car 
off  the  river  road  and  into  the  building.  The  person 
whom  she  found  must  have  suddenly  conceived  a 
method  of  getting  her  out  of  the  way  and  making  it 
look  like  an  accident  of  some  kind,  perhaps  per- 
suaded her  to  stay  in  the  car  with  the  engine  running, 
while  he  went  off  and  destroyed  the  aeroplane  which 
was  damning  evidence  now." 

Startling  as  was  the  revelation  of  an  actual  phan- 
tom destroyer,  our  minds  were  more  aroused  as  to 
who  might  be  the  criminal  who  had  employed  such 
an  engine  of  death. 

Kennedy  drew  from  his  pocket  the  telegram 
which  had  just  arrived,  and  spread  it  out  flat  before 
us  on  a  table.  It  was  dated  Philadelphia,  and  read : 

MRS.  IDA  SNEDDEN,  Nitropolis: 

Garretson  and  Gertrude  were  married  to-day.  Have  traced 
them  to  the  Wolcott.  Try  to  reconcile  Mr.  Snedden. 

HUNTER  JACKSON. 

I  saw  at  once  that  part  of  the  story.  It  was  just 
a  plain  love-affair  that  had  ended  in  an  elopement 
at  a  convenient  time.  The  fire-eating  Garretson 
had  been  afraid  of  the  Sneddens  and  Jackson,  who- 
was  their  friend.  Before  I  could  even  think  further, 
Kennedy  had  drawn  out  the  films  taken  by  the 
rocket-camera. 

"With  the  aid  of  a  magnifying-glass,"  he  was  say- 
ing, "I  can  get  just  enough  of  the  lone  figure  in  this 
picture  to  identify  it.  These  are  the  crimes  of  a 
crazed  pacifist,  one  whose  mind  had  so  long  dwelt 
on  the  horrors  of — " 

130 


THE    PHANTOM    DESTROYER 

"Look  out!"  shouted  MacLeod,  leaping  in  front  of 
Kennedy. 

The  strain  of  the  revelation  had  been  too  much. 
Snedden — a  raving  maniac — had  reeled  forward, 
wildly  and  impotently,  at  the  man  who  had  exposed 
him. 


VI 

THE  BEAUTY  MASK 

H,  Mr.  Jameson,  if  they  could  only  wake  her 
up — find  out  what  is  the  matter — do  some- 
thing! This  suspense  is  killing  both  mother  and 
myself." 

Scenting  a  good  feature  story,  my  city  editor 
had  sent  me  out  on  an  assignment,  my  sole  equip- 
ment being  a  clipping  of  two  paragraphs  from  the 
morning  Star. 

GIRL  IN  COMA  SIX  DAYS— SHOWS  NO  SIGN  OF 
REVIVAL 

Virginia  Blakeley,  the  nineteen-year-old  daughter  of  Mrs. 
Stuart  Blakeley,  of  Riverside  Drive,  who  has  been  in  a  state  ot 
coma  for  six  days,  still  shows  no  sign  of  returning  consciousness. 

Ever  since  Monday  some  member  of  her  family  has  been 
constantly  beside  her.  Her  mother  and  sister  have  both  vainly 
tried  to  coax  her  back  to  consciousness,  but  their  efforts  have 
not  met  with  the  slightest  response.  Dr.  Calvert  Haynes,  the 
family  physician,  and  several  specialists  who  have  been  called 
in  consultation,  are  completely  baffled  by  the  strange  malady. 

Often  I  had  read  of  cases  of  morbid  sleep  lasting 
for  days  and  even  for  weeks.  But  this  was  the  first 
case  I  had  ever  actually  encountered  and  I  was  glad 
to  take  the  assignment. 

The  Blakeleys,  as  every  one  knew,  had  inherited 
132 


THE    BEAUTY   MASK 

from  Stuart  Blakeley  a  very  considerable  fortune  in 
real  estate  in  one  of  the  most  rapidly  developing 
sections  of  upper  New  York,  and  on  the  death  of 
their  mother  the  two  girls,  Virginia  and  Cynthia, 
would  be  numbered  among  the  wealthiest  heiresses 
of  the  city. 

They  lived  in  a  big  sandstone  mansion  fronting 
the  Hudson  and  it  was  with  some  misgiving  that  I 
sent  up  my  card.  Both  Mrs.  Blakeley  and  her  other 
daughter,  however,  met  me  in  the  reception-room, 
thinking,  perhaps,  from  what  I  had  written  on  the 
card,  that  I  might  have  some  assistance  to  offer 

Mrs.  Blakeley  was  a  well-preserved  lady,  past 
middle-age,  and  very  nervous. 

"Mercy,  Cynthia!"  she  exclaimed,  as  I  explained 
my  mission,  "it's  another  one  of  those  reporters. 
No,  I  cannot  say  anything — not  a  word.  I  don't 
know  anything.  See  Doctor  Haynes.  I — " 

"But,  mother,"  interposed  Cynthia,  more  calmly, 
"the  thing  is  in  the  papers.  It  may  be  that  some 
one  who  reads  of  it  may  know  of  something  that 
can  be  done.  Who  can  tell?" 

"Well,  I  won't  say  anything,"  persisted  the 
elder  woman.  "I  don't  like  all  this  publicity.  Did 
the  newspapers  ever  do  anything  but  harm  to  your 
poor  dear  father?  No,  I  won't  talk.  It  won't  do  us 
a  bit  of  good.  And  you,  Cynthia,  had  better  be 
careful." 

Mrs.  Blakeley  backed  out  of  the  door,  but  Cynthia, 
who  was  a  few  years  older  than  her  sister,  had  evi- 
dently acquired  independence.  At  least  she  felt 
capable  of  coping  with  an  ordinary  reporter  who 
looked  no  more  formidable  than  myself. 
10  133 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

"It  is  quite  possible  that  some  one  who  knows 
about  such  cases  may  learn  of  this,"  I  urged. 

She  hesitated  as  her  mother  disappeared,  and 
looked  at  me  a  moment,  then,  her  feelings  getting 
the  better  of  her,  burst  forth  with  the  strange  appeal 
I  have  already  quoted. 

It  was  as  though  I  had  come  at  just  an  opportune 
moment  when  she  must  talk  to  some  outsider  to 
relieve  her  pent-up  feelings. 

By  an  adroit  question  here  and  there,  as  we  stood 
in  the  reception-hall,  I  succeeded  in  getting  the 
story,  which  seemed  to  be  more  of  human  interest 
than  of  news.  I  even  managed  to  secure  a  photo- 
graph of  Virginia  as  she  was  before  the  strange  sleep 
fell  on  her. 

Briefly,  as  her  sister  told  it,  Virginia  was  en- 
gaged to  Hampton  Haynes,  a  young  medical  student 
at  the  college  where  his  father  was  a  professor  of 
diseases  of  the  heart.  The  Hayneses  were  of  a  fine 
Southern  family  which  had  never  recovered  from  the 
war  and  had  finally  come  to  New  York.  The  father, 
Dr.  Calvert  Haynes,  in  addition  to  being  a  well- 
known  physician,  was  the  family  physician  of  the 
Blakeleys,  as  I  already  knew. 

"Twice  the  date  of  the  marriage  has  been  set,  only 
to  be  postponed,"  added  Cynthia  Blakeley.  "We 
don't  know  what  to  do.  And  Hampton  is  frantic." 

"Then  this  is  really  the  second  attack  of  the 
morbid  sleep?"  I  queried. 

"Yes — in  a  few  weeks.  Only  the  other  wasn't  so 
long — not  more  than  a  day." 

She  said  it  in  a  hesitating  manner  which  I  could 
not  account  for.  Either  she  thought  there  might  be 


THE    BEAUTY   MASK 

something  more  back  of  it  or  she  recalled  her 
mother's  aversion  to  reporters  and  did  not  know 
whether  she  was  saying  too  much  or  not. 

"Do  you  really  fear  that  'there  is  something 
wrong?"  I  asked,  significantly,  hastily  choosing  the 
former  explanation. 

Cynthia  Blakeley  looked  quickly  at  the  door 
through  which  her  mother  had  retreated. 

"I — I  don't  know,"  she  replied,  tremulously.  "I 
don't  know  why  I  am  talking  to  you.  I'm  so  afraid, 
too,  that  the  newspapers  may  say  something  that 
isn't  true." 

"You  would  like  to  get  at  the  truth,  if  I  promise 
to  hold  the  story  back?"  I  persisted,  catching  her  eye. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  in  a  low  tone,  "but — "  then 
stopped. 

"I  will  ask  my  friend,  Professor  Kennedy,  at  the 
university,  to  come  here,"  I  urged. 

"You  know  him?"  she  asked,  eagerly.  "He  will 
come?" 

"Without  a  doubt,"  I  reassured,  waiting  for  her 
to  say  no  more,  but  picking  up  the  telephone  re- 
ceiver on  a  stand  in  the  hall. 

Fortunately  I  found  Craig  at  his  laboratory  and 
a  few  hasty  words  were  all  that  was  necessary  to 
catch  his  interest. 

"I  must  tell  mother,"  Cynthia  cried,  excitedly,  as 
I  hung  up  the  receiver.  "Surely  she  cannot  object 
to  that.  Will  you  wait  here?" 

As  I  waited  for  Craig,  I  tried  to  puzzle  the  case  out 
for  myself.  Though  I  knew  nothing  about  it  as  yet, 
I  felt  sure  that  I  had  not  made  a  mistake  and  that 
there  was  some  mystery  here. 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

Suddenly  I  became  aware  that  the  two  women 
were  talking  in  the  next  room,  though  too  low  for 
me  to  catch  what  they  were  saying.  It  was  evident, 
however,  that  Cynthia  was  having  some  difficulty 
in  persuading  her  mother  that  everything  was  all 
right. 

"Well,  Cynthia,"  I  heard  her  mother  say,  finally, 
as  she  left  the  room  for  one  farther  back,  "I  hope 
it  will  be  all  right — that  is  all  I  can  say." 

What  was  it  that  Mrs.  Blakeley  so  feared?  Was 
it  merely  the  unpleasant  notoriety?  One  could  not 
help  the  feeling  that  there  was  something  more  that 
she  suspected,  perhaps  knew,  but  would  not  tell. 
Yet,  apparently,  it  was  aside  from  her  desire  to  have 
her  daughter  restored  to  normal.  She  was  at  sea, 
herself,  I  felt. 

"Poor  dear  mother!"  murmured  Cynthia,  re- 
joining me  in  a  few  moments.  "She  hardly  knows 
just  what  it  is  she  does  want — except  that  we  want 
Virginia  well  again." 

We  had  not  long  to  wait  for  Craig.  What  I  had 
told  him  over  the  telephone  had  been  quite  enough 
to  arouse  his  curiosity. 

Both  Mrs.  Blakeley  and  Cynthia  met  him,  at 
first  a  little  fearfully,  but  quickly  reassured  by  his 
manner,  as  well  as  my  promise  to  see  that  nothing 
appeared  in  the  Star  which  would  be  distasteful. 

"Oh,  if  some  one  could  only  bring  back  our  little 
girl!"  cried  Mrs.  Blakeley,  with  suppressed  emotion, 
leading  the  way  with  her  daughter  up-stairs. 

It  was  only  for  a  moment  that  I  could  see  Craig 
alone  to  explain  the  impressions  I  had  received,  but 
it  was  enough. 

136 


THE    BEAUTY    MASK 

"I'm  glad  you  called  me,"  he  whispered.  "There 
is  something  queer." 

We  followed  them  up  to  the  dainty  bedroom  in 
flowered  enamel  where  Virginia  Blakeley  lay,  and 
it  was  then  for  the  first  time  that  we  saw  her.  Ken- 
nedy drew  a  chair  up  beside  the  little  white  bed  and 
went  to  work  almost  as  though  he  had  been  a 
physician  himself. 

Partly  from  what  I  observed  myself  and  partly 
from  what  he  told  me  afterward,  I  shall  try  to 
describe  the  peculiar  condition  in  which  she  was. 

She  lay  there  lethargic,  scarcely  breathing.  Once 
she  had  been  a  tall,  slender,  fair  girl,  with  a  sort  of 
wild  grace.  Now  she  seemed  to  be  completely 
altered.  I  could  not  help  thinking  of  the  contrast 
between  her  looks  no"w  and  the  photograph  in  my 
pocket. 

Not  only  was  her  respiration  slow,  but  her  pulse 
was  almost  imperceptible,  less  than  forty  a  minute. 
Her  temperature  was  far  below  normal,  and  her  blood 
pressure  low.  Once  she  had  seemed  fully  a  woman, 
with  all  the  strength  and  promise  of  precocious 
maturity.  But  now  there  was  something  strange 
about  her  looks.  It  is  difficult  to  describe.  It  was 
not  that  she  was  no  longer  a  young  woman,  but 
there  seemed  to  be  something  almost  sexless  about 
her.  It  was  as  though  her  secondary  sex  character- 
istics were  no  longer  feminine,  but — for  want  of  a 
better  word — neuter. 

Yet,  strange  to  say,  in  spite  of  the  lethargy  which 
necessitated  at  least  some  artificial  feeding,  she  was 
not  falling  away.  She  seemed,  if  anything,  plump. 
To  all  appearances  there  was  really  a  retardation  of 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

metabolism  connected  with  the  trance-like   sleep. 
She  was  actually  gaining  in  weight ! 

As  he  noted  one  of  these  things  after  another, 
Kennedy  looked  at  her  long  and  carefully.  I  fol- 
lowed the  direction  of  his  eyes.  Over  her  nose,  just 
a  trifle  above  the  line  of  her  eyebrows,  was  a  peculiar 
red  mark,  a  sore,  which  was  very  disfiguring,  as 
though  it  were  hard  to  heal. 

"What  is  that?"  he  asked  Mrs.  Blakeley,  finally. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  replied,  slowly.  "We've  all 
noticed  it.  It  came  just  after  the  sleep  began." 

"You  have  no  idea  what  could  have  caused  it?" 

"Both  Virginia  and  Cynthia  have  been  going  to  a 
face  specialist,"  she  admitted,  "to"  have  their  skins 
treated  for  freckles.  After  the  treatment  they  wore 
masks  which  were  supposed  to  have  some  effect  on 
the  skin.  I  don't  know.  Could  it  be  that?" 

Kennedy  looked  sharply  at  Cynthia's  face.  There 
was  no  red  mark  over  her  nose.  But  there  were 
certainly  no  freckles  on  either  of  the  girls'  faces  now, 
either. 

"Oh,  mother,"  remonstrated  Cynthia,  "it  couldn't 
be  anything  Doctor  Chapelle  did." 

"Doctor  Chapelle?"  repeated  Kennedy. 

"Yes,  Dr.  Carl  Chapelle,"  replied  Mrs.  Blakeley. 
"Perhaps  you  have  heard  of  him.  He  is  quite  well 
known,  has  a  beauty-parlor  on  Fifth  Avenue.  He —  " 

"It's  ridiculous, ' '  cut  in  Cynthia,  sharply.  ' ' Why, 
my  face  was  worse  than  Virgie's.  Car —  He  said  it 
would  take  longer." 

I  had  been  watching  Cynthia,  but  it  needed  only 
to  have  heard  her  to  see  that  Doctor  Chapelle  was 
something  more  than  a  beauty  specialist  to  her. 

138 


THE    BEAUTY    MASK 

Kennedy  glanced  thoughtfully  from  the  clear 
skin  of  Cynthia  to  the  red  mark  on  Virginia.  Though 
he  said  nothing,  I  could  see  that  his  mind  was  on  it. 
I  had  heard  of  the  beauty  doctors  who  promise  to 
give  one  a  skin  as  soft  and  clear  as  a  baby's — and 
often,  by  their  inexpert  use  of  lotions  and  chemicals, 
succeed  in  ruining  the  skin  and  disfiguring  the 
patient  for  life.  Could  this  be  a  case  of  that 
sort?  Yet  how  explain  the  apparent  success  with 
Cynthia? 

The  elder  sister,  however,  was  plainly  vexed  at 
the  mention  of  the  beauty  doctor's  name  at  all,  and 
she  showed  it.  Kennedy  made  a  mental  note  of 
the  matter,  but  refrained  from  saying  any  more 
about  it. 

"I  suppose  there  is  no  objection  to  my  seeing 
Doctor  Haynes?"  asked  Kennedy,  rising  and  chang- 
ing the  subject. 

"None  whatever,"  returned  Mrs.  Blakeley.  "If 
there's  anything  you  or  he  can  do  to  bring  Virginia 
out  of  this — anything  safe — I  want  it  done,"  she 
emphasized. 

Cynthia  was  silent  as  we  left.  Evidently  she  had 
not  expected  Doctor  Chapelle's  name  to  be  brought 
into  the  case. 

We  were  lucky  in  finding  Doctor  Haynes  at  home, 
although  it  was  not  the  regular  time  for  his  office 
hours.  Kennedy  introduced  himself  as  a  friend  of  the 
Blakeleys  who  had  been  asked  to  see  that  I  made 
no  blunders  in  writing  the  story  for  the  Star.  Doctor 
Haynes  did  not  question  the  explanation. 

He  was  a  man  well  on  toward  the  sixties,  with 
that  magnetic  quality  that  inspires  the  confidence  so 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

necessary  for  a  doctor.     Far  from  wealthy,  he  had 
attained  a  high  place  in  the  profession. 

As  Kennedy  finished  his  version  of  our  mission, 
Doctor  Haynes  shook  his  head  with  a  deep  sigh. 

"You  can  understand  how  I  feel  toward  the 
Blakeleys,"  he  remarked,  at  length.  "I  should  con- 
sider it  unethical  to  give  an  interview  under  any 
circumstances — much  more  so  under  the  present." 

"Still,"  I  put  in,  taking  Kennedy's  cue,  "just  a 
word  to  set  me  straight  can't  do  any  harm.  I  won't 
quote  you  directly." 

He  seemed  to  realize  that  it  might  be  better  to 
talk  carefully  than  to  leave  all  to  my  imagination. 

"Well,"  he  began,  slowly,  "I  have  considered  all 
the  usual  causes  assigned  for  such  morbid  sleep.  It 
is  not  auto-suggestion  or  trance,  I  am  positive.  Nor 
is  there  any  trace  of  epilepsy.  I  cannot  see  how  it 
could  be  due  to  poisoning,  can  you?" 

I  admitted  readily  that  I  could  not. 

"No,"  he  resumed,  "it  is  just  a  case  of  what  we 
call  narcolepsy — pathological  somnolence — a  sud- 
den, uncontrollable  inclination  to  sleep,  occurring 
sometimes  repeatedly  or  at  varying  intervals.  I 
don't  think  it  hysterical,  epileptic,  or  toxemic.  The 
plain  fact  of  the  matter,  gentlemen,  is  that  neither 
myself  nor  any  of  my  colleagues  whom  I  have  con- 
sulted have  the  faintest  idea  what  it  is — yet." 

The  door  of  the  office  opened,  for  it  was  not  the 
hour  for  consulting  patients,  and  a  tall,  athletic 
young  fellow,  with  a  keen  and  restless  face,  though 
very  boyish,  entered. 

"My  son,"  the  doctor  introduced,  "soon  to  be  the 
sixth  Doctor  Haynes  in  direct  line  in  the  family." 

140 


THE    BEAUTY    MASK 

We  shook  hands.  It  was  evident  that  Cynthia 
had  not  by  any  means  exaggerated  when  she  said 
that  he  was  frantic  over  what  had  happened  to  his 
fiancee. 

Accordingly,  there  was  no  difficulty  in  reverting  to 
the  subject  of  our  visit.  Gradually  I  let  Kennedy 
take  the  lead  in  the  conversation  so  that  our  position 
might  not  seem  to  be  false. 

It  was  not  long  before  Craig  managed  to  inject  a 
remark  about  the  red  spot  over  Virginia's  nose. 
It  seemed  to  excite  young  Hampton. 

"Naturally  I  look  on  it  more  as  a  doctor  than  a 
lover,"  remarked  his  father,  smiling  indulgently  at 
the  young  man,  whom  it  was  evident  he  regarded 
above  everything  else  in  the  world.  "I  have  not 
been  able  to  account  for  it,  either.  Really  the  case 
is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  I  have  ever  heard  of." 

"You  have  heard  of  a  Dr.  Carl  Chapelle?"  in- 
quired Craig,  tentatively. 

"A  beauty  doctor,"  interrupted  the  young  man, 
turning  toward  his  father.  "You've  met  him.  He's 
the  fellow  I  think  is  really  engaged  to  Cynthia." 

Hampton  seemed  much  excited.  There  was  un- 
concealed animosity  in  the  manner  of  his  remark, 
and  I  wondered  why  it  was.  Could  there  be  some 
latent  jealousy? 

"I  see,"  calmed  Doctor  Haynes.  "You  mean  to 
infer  that  this — er — this  Doctor  Chapelle — "  He 
paused,  waiting  for  Kennedy  to  take  the  initiative. 

"I  suppose  you've  noticed  over  Miss  Blakeley's 
nose  a  red  sore?"  hazarded  Kennedy. 

"Yes,"  replied  Doctor  Haynes,  "rather  refractory, 
too.  I—" 

141 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

"Say,"  interrupted  Hampton,  who  by  this  time 
had  reached  a  high  pitch  of  excitement,  "say,  do 
you  think  it  could  be  any  of  his  confounded  nostrums 
back  of  this  thing?" 

"Careful,  Hampton,"  cautioned  the  elder  man. 

"I'd  like  to  see  him,"  pursued  Craig  to  the 
younger.  "You  know  him?" 

"Know  him?  I  should  say  I  do.  Good-looking, 
good  practice,  and  all  that,  but — why,  he  must 
have  hypnotized  that  girl!  Cynthia  thinks  he's 
wonderful." 

"I'd  like  to  see  him,"  suggested  Craig. 

"Very  well,"  agreed  Hampton,  taking  him  at  his 
word.  "Much  as  I  dislike  the  fellow,  I  have  no 
objection  to  going  down  to  his  beauty-parlor  with 
you." 

"Thank  you,"  returned  Craig,  as  we  excused  our- 
selves and  left  the  elder  Doctor  Haynes. 

Several  times  on  our  journey  down  Hampton, 
could  not  resist  some  reference  to  Chapelle  for  com- 
mercializing the  profession,  remarks  which  sounded 
strangely  old  on  his  lips. 

Chapelle's  office,  we  found,  was  in  a  large  building 
on  Fifth  Avenue  in  the  new  shopping  district,  where 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  women  passed  almost 
daily.  He  called  the  place  a  Dermatological  Insti- 
tute, but,  as  Hampton  put  it,  he  practised  "deco- 
rative surgery." 

As  we  entered  one  door,  we  saw  that  patients  left 
by  another.  Evidently,  as  Craig  whispered,  when 
sixty  sought  to  look  like  sixteen  the  seekers  did  not 
like  to  come  in  contact  with  one  another. 

We  waited  some  time  in  a  little  private  room.    At 
142 


THE    BEAUTY   MASK 

last  Doctor  Chapelle  himself  appeared,  a  rather 
handsome  man  with  the  manner  that  one  instinc- 
tively feels  appeals  to  the  ladies. 

He  shook  hands  with  young  Haynes,  and  I  could 
detect  no  hostility  on  Chapelle's  part,  but  rather  a 
friendly  interest  in  a  younger  member  of  the  medical 
profession. 

Again  I  was  thrown  forward  as  a  buffer.  I  was 
their  excuse  for  being  there.  However,  a  newspaper 
experience  gives  you  one  thing,  if  no  other — assurance. 

"I  believe  you  have  a  patient,  a  Miss  Virginia 
Blakeley?"  I  ventured. 

"Miss  Blakeley?    Oh  yes,  and  her  sister,  also." 

The  mention  of  the  names  was  enough.  I  was  no 
longer  needed  as  a  buffer. 

"Chapelle,"  blurted  out  Hampton,  "you  must 
have  done  something  to  her  when'ryou  treated  her 
face.  There's  a  little  red  spot  over  her  nose  that 
hasn't  healed  yet." 

Kennedy  frowned  at  the  impetuous  interruption. 
Yet  it  was  perhaps  the  best  thing  that  could  have 
happened. 

"So,"  returned  Chapelle,  drawing  back  and  plac- 
ing his  head  on  one  side  as  he  nodded  it  with  each 
word,  "you  think  I've  spoiled  her  looks?  Aren't 
the  freckles  gone?" 

"Yes,"  retorted  Hampton,  bitterly,  "but  on  her 
face  is  this  new  disfigurement." 

"That?"  shrugged  Chapelle.  "I  know  nothing  of 
that — nor  of  the  trance.  I  have  only  my  specialty." 

Calm  though  he  appeared  outwardly,  one  could 
see  that  Chapelle  was  plainly  worried.  Under  the 
circumstances,  might  not  his  professional  reputa- 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

tion  be  at  stake?  What  if  a  hint  like  this  got  abroad 
among  his  rich  clientele? 

I  looked  about  his  shop  and  wondered  just  how 
much  of  a  faker  he  was.  Once  or  twice  I  had  heard 
of  surgeons  who  had  gone  legitimately  into  this  sort 
of  thing.  But  the  common  story  was  that  of  the 
swindler — or  worse.  I  had  heard  of  scores  of  cases 
of  good  looks  permanently  ruined,  seldom  of  any 
benefit.  Had  Chapelle  ignorantly  done  something 
that  would  leave  its  scar  forever?  Or  was  he  one 
of  the  few  who  were  honest  and  careful  ? 

Whatever  the  case,  Kennedy  had  accomplished 
his  purpose.  He  had  seen  Chapelle.  If  he  were 
really  guilty  of  anything  the  chances  were  all  in 
favor  of  his  betraying  it  by  trying  to  cover  it  up. 
Deftly  suppressing  Hampton,  we  managed  to  beat  a 
retreat  without  showing  our  hands  any  further. 

"Humph!"  snorted  Hampton,  as  we  rode  down  in 
the  elevator  and  hopped  on  a  'bus  to  go  up-town. 
"Gave  up  legitimate  medicine  and  took  up  this 
beauty  doctoring  —  it's  unprofessional,  I  tell  you. 
Why,  he  even  advertises!" 

We  left  Hampton  and  returned  to  the  laboratory, 
though  Craig  had  no  present  intention  of  staying 
there.  His  visit  was  merely  for  the  purpose  of 
gathering  some  apparatus,  which  included  a  Crookes 
tube,  carefully  packed,  a  rheostat,  and  some  other 
paraphernalia  which  we  divided.  A  few  moments 
later  we  were  on  our  way  again  to  the  Blakeley 
mansion. 

No  change  had  taken  place  in  the  condition  of  the 
patient,  and  Mrs.  Blakeley  met  us  anxiously.  Nor 
was  the  anxiety  wholly  over  her  daughter's  condi- 

144 


THE    BEAUTY    MASK 

tion,  for  there  seemed  to  be  an  air  of  relief  when 
Kennedy  told  her  that  we  had  little  to  report. 

Up-stairs  in  the  sick-room,  Craig  set  silently  to 
work,  attaching  his  apparatus  to  an  electric-light 
socket  from  which  he  had  unscrewed  the  bulb.  As 
he  proceeded  I  saw  that  it  was,  as  I  had  surmised, 
his  new  X-ray  photographing  machine  which  he.  had 
brought.  Carefully,  from  several  angles,  he  took 
photographs  of  Virginia's  head,  then,  without  saying 
a  word,  packed  up  his  kit  and  started  away. 

We  were  passing  down  the  hall,  after  leaving  Mrs. 
Blakeley,  when  a  figure  stepped  out  from  behind  a 
portiere.  It  was  Cynthia,  who  had  been  waiting  to 
see  us  alone. 

"You — don't  think  Doctor  Chapelle  had  anything 
to  do  with  it?"  she  asked,  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

"Then  Hampton  Haynes  has  been  here?"  avoided 
Kennedy. 

"Yes,"  she  admitted,  as  though  the  question  had 
been  quite  logical.  "He  told  me  of  your  visit  to 
Carl." 

There  was  no  concealment,  now,  of  her  anxiety. 
Indeed,  I  saw  no  reason  why  there  should  be.  It  was 
quite  natural  that  the  girl  should  worry  over  her 
lover,  if  she  thought  there  was  even  a  haze  of  sus- 
picion in  Kennedy's  mind. 

"Really  I  have  found  out  nothing  yet,"  was  the 
only  answer  Craig  gave,  from  which  I  readily  de- 
duced that  he  was  well  satisfied  to  play  the  game 
by  pitting  each  against  all,  in  the  hope  of  gathering 
here  and  there  a  bit  of  the  truth.  "As  soon  as  I  find 
out  anything  I  shall  let  you  and  your  mother  know. 
And  you  must  tell  me  everything,  too." 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

He  paused  to  emphasize  the  last  words,  then 
slowly  turned  again  toward  the  door.  From  the 
corner  of  my  eye  I  saw  Cynthia  take  a  step  after 
him,  pause,  then  take  another. 

"Oh,  Professor  Kennedy,"  she  called. 

Craig  turned. 

"There's  something  I  forgot,"  she  continued. 
"There's  something  wrong  with  mother!"  She 
paused,  then  resumed:  "Even  before  Virginia  was 
taken  down  with  this — illness  I  saw  a  change.  She 
is  worried.  Oh,  Professor  Kennedy,  what  is  it? 
We  have  all  been  so  happy.  And  now — Virgie, 
mother — all  I  have  in  the  world.  What  shall  I  do?" 

"Just  what  do  you  mean?"  asked  Kennedy,  gently. 

"I  don't  know.  Mother  has  been  so  different 
lately.  And  now,  every  night,  she  goes  out." 

"Where?"  encouraged  Kennedy,  realizing  that 
his  plan  was  working. 

"I  don't  know.  If  she  would  only  come  back 
looking  happier."  She  was  sobbing,  convulsively, 
over  she  knew  not  what. 

"Miss  Blakeley,"  said  Kennedy,  taking  her  hand 
between  both  of  his,  "only  trust  me.  If  it  is  in  my 
power  I  shall  bring  you  all  out  of  this  uncertainty 
that  haunts  you." 

She  could  only  murmur  her  thanks  as  we  left. 

"It  is  strange,"  ruminated  Kennedy,  as  we  sped 
across  the  city  again  to  the  laboratory.  "We  must 
watch  Mrs.  Blakeley." 

That  was  all  that  was  said.  Although  I  had  no 
inkling  of  what  was  back  of  it  all,  I  felt  quite  sat- 
isfied at  having  recognized  the  mystery  even  on 
stumbling  on  it  as  I  had. 

146 


THE    BEAUTY    MASK 

In  the  laboratory,  as  soon  as  he  could  develop  the 
skiagraphs  he  had  taken,  Kennedy  began  a  minute 
study  of  them.  It  was  not  long  before  he  looked 
over  at  me  with  the  expression  I  had  come  to  recog- 
nize when  he  found  something  important.  I  went 
over  and  looked  at  the  radiograph  which  he  was 
studying.  To  me  it  was  nothing  but  successive 
gradations  of  shadows.  But  to  one  who  had  studied 
roentgenography  as  Kennedy  had  each  minute  gra- 
dation of  light  and  shade  had  its  meaning. 

"You  see,"  pointed  out  Kennedy,  tracing  along 
one  of  the  shadows  with  a  fine-pointed  pencil,  and 
then  along  a  corresponding  position  on  another 
standard  skiagraph  which  he  already  had,  "there  is 
a  marked  diminution  in  size  of  the  sella  turcica,  as 
it  is  called.  Yet  there  is  no  evidence  of  a  tumor." 
For  several  moments  he  pondered  deeply  over  the 
photographs.  "And  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  of 
any  mechanical  pressure  sufficient  to  cause  such  a 
change,"  he  added. 

Unable  to  help  him  on  the  problem,  whatever  it 
might  be,  I  watched  him  pacing  up  and  down  the 
laboratory. 

"I  shall  have  to  take  that  picture  over  again — 
under  different  circumstances,"  he  remarked,  finally, 
pausing  and  looking  at  his  watch.  "To-night  we 
must  follow  this  clue  which  Cynthia  has  given  us. 
Call  a  cab,  Walter." 

We  took  a  stand  down  the  block  from  the  Blakeley 
mansion,  near  a  large  apartment,  where  the  presence 
of  a  cab  would  not  attract  attention.  If  there  is  any 
job  I  despise  it  is  shadowing.  One  must  keep  his 
eyes  riveted  on  a  house,  for,  once  let  the  attention 

i47 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

relax  and  it  is  incredible  how  quickly  any  one  may 
get  out  and  disappear. 

Our  vigil  was  finally  rewarded  when  we  saw  Mrs. 
Blakeley  emerge  and  hurry  down  the  street.  To 
follow  her  was  easy,  for  she  did  not  suspect  that  she 
was  being  watched,  and  went  afoot.  On  she  walked, 
turning  off  the  Drive  and  proceeding  rapidly  toward 
the  region  of  cheap  tenements.  She  paused  before 
one,  and  as  our  cab  cruised  leisurely  past  we  saw 
her  press  a  button,  the  last  on  the  right-hand  side, 
enter  the  door,  and  start  up  the  stairs. 

Instantly  Kennedy  signaled  our  driver  to  stop 
and  together  we  hopped  out  and  walked  back, 
cautiously  entering  the  vestibule.  The  name  in 
the  letter-box  was  "Mrs.  Reba  Rinehart."  What 
could  it  mean? 

Just  then  another  cab  stopped  up  the  street,  and 
as  we  turned  to  leave  the  vestibule  Kennedy  drew 
back.  It  was  too  late,  however,  not  to  be  seen.  A 
man  had  just  alighted  and,  in  turn,  had  started 
back,  also  realizing  that  it  was  too  late.  It  was 
Chapelle!  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  make 
the  best  of  it. 

"Shadowing  the  shadowers?"  queried  Kennedy, 
keenly  watching  the  play  of  his  features  under  the 
arc-light  of  the  street. 

"Miss  Cynthia  asked  me  to  follow  her  mother  the 
other  night,"  he  answered,  quite  frankly.  "And  I 
have  been  doing  so  ever  since." 

It  was  a  glib  answer,  at  any  rate,  I  thought. 

"Then,  perhaps  you  know  something  of  Reba 
Rinehart,  too,"  bluffed  Kennedy. 

Chapelle  eyed  us  a  moment,  in  doubt  how  much  we 
148 


THE    BEAUTY   MASK 

knew.  Kennedy  played  a  pair  of  deuces  as  if  they 
had  been  four  aces  instead. 

"Not  much,"  replied  Chapelle,  dubiously.  "I 
know  that  Mrs.  Blakeley  has  been  paying  money  to 
the  old  woman,  who  seems  to  be  ill.  Once  I  man- 
aged to  get  in  to  see  her.  It's  a  bad  case  of  pernicious 
anemia,  I  should  say.  A  neighbor  told  me  she  had 
been  to  the  college  hospital,  had  been  one  of  Doctor 
Haynes's  cases,  but  that  he  had  turned  her  over  to 
his  son.  I've  seen  Hampton  Haynes  here,  too." 

There  was  an  air  of  sincerity  about  Chapelle's 
words.  But,  then,  I  reflected  that  there  had  also 
been  a  similar  ring  to  what  we  had  heard  Hampton 
say.  Were  they  playing  a  game  against  each  other? 
Perhaps — but  what  was  the  game?  What  did  it  all 
mean  and  why  should  Mrs.  Blakeley  pay  money  to 
an  old  woman,  a  charity  patient? 

There  was  no  solution.  Both  Kennedy  and 
Chapelle,  by  a  sort  of  tacit  consent,  dismissed  their 
cabs,  and  we  strolled  on  over  toward  Broadway, 
watching  one  another,  furtively.  We  parted  finally, 
and  Craig  and  I  went  up  to  our  apartment,  where 
he  sat  for  hours  in  a  brown  study.  There  was 
plenty  to  think  about  even  so  far  in  the  affair.  He 
may  have  sat  up  all  night.  At  any  rate,  he  roused 
me  early  in  the  morning. 

"Come  over  to  the  laboratory,"  he  said.    "I  want 

I  to  take   that   X-ray  machine   up   there   again   to 

Blakeley 's.    Confound  it!     I  hope  it 'snot  too  late." 

I  lost  no  time  in  joining  him  and  we  were  at  the 
house  long  before  any  reasonable  hour  for  visitors. 

Kennedy  asked  for  Mrs.  Blakeley  and  hurriedly 
set  up  the  X-ray  apparatus.  "I  wish  you  would 
ii  149 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

place  that  face  mask  which  she  was  wearing  exactly 
as  it  was  before  she  became  ill,"  he  asked. 

Her  mother  did  as  Kennedy  directed,  replacing 
the  rubber  mask  as  Virginia  had  worn  it. 

"I  want  you  to  preserve  that  mask,"  directed 
Kennedy,  as  he  finished  taking  his  pictures.  "Say 
nothing  about  it  to  any  one.  In  fact,  I  should  advise 
putting  it  in  your  family  safe  for  the  present." 

Hastily  we  drove  back  to  the  laboratory  and 
Kennedy  set  to  work  again  developing  the  second 
set  of  skiagraphs.  I  had  not  long  to  wait,  this  time, 
for  him  to  study  them.  His  first  glance  brought  me 
over  to  him  as  he  exclaimed  loudly. 

At  the  point  just  opposite  the  sore  which  he  had 
observed  on  Virginia's  forehead,  and  overlying  the 
sella  turcica,  there  was  a  peculiar  spot  on  the  radio- 
graph. 

"Something  in  that  mask  has  affected  the  photo- 
graphic plate,"  he  explained,  his  face  now  animated. 

Before  I  could  ask  him  what  it  was  he  had  opened 
a  cabinet  where  he  kept  many  new  things  which  he 
studied  in  his  leisure  moments.  From  it  I  saw  him 
take  several  glass  ampules  which  he  glanced  at 
hastily  and  shoved  into  his  pocket  as  we  heard  a 
footstep  out  in  the  hall.  It  was  Chapelle,  very  much 
worried.  Could  it  be  that  he  knew  his  society  clien- 
tele was  at  stake,  I  wondered.  Or  was  it  more  than 
that? 

"She's  dead!"  he  cried.  "The  old  lady  died  last 
night!" 

Without  a  word  Kennedy  hustled  us  out  of  the 
laboratory,  stuffing  the  X-ray  pictures  into  his 
pocket,  also,  as  we  went. 


THE    BEAUTY    MASK 

As  we  hurried  down-town  Chapelle  told  us  how  he 
had  tried  to  keep  a  watch  by  bribing  one  of  the 
neighbors,  who  had  just  informed  him.  of  the  tragedy. 

"It  was  her  heart,"  said  one  of  the  neighbors,  as 
we  entered  the  poor  apartment.  "The  doctor  said 
so." 

"Anemia,"  insisted  Chapelle,  looking  carefully 
at  the  body. 

Kennedy  bent  over,  also,  and  examined  the  poor, 
worn  frame.  As  he  did  so  he  caught  sight  of  a  heavy 
linen  envelope  tucked  under  her  pillow.  He  pulled 
it  out  gently  and  opened  it.  Inside  were  several 
time-worn  documents  and  letters.  He  glanced  over 
them  hastily,  unfolding  first  a  letter. 

"Walter,"  he  whispered,  furtively,  looking  at  the 
neighbors  in  the  room  and  making  sure  that  none 
of  them  had  seen  the  envelope  already.  "Read 
these.  That's  her  story." 

One  glance  was  sufficient.  The  first  was  a  letter 
from  old  Stuart  Blakeley.  Reba  Rinehart  had  been 
secretly  married  to  him — and  never  divorced.  One 
paper  after  another  unfolded  her  story. 

I  thought  quickly.  Then  she  had  had  a  right  in 
the  Blakeley  millions.  More  than  that,  the  Blakeleys 
themselves  had  none,  at  least  only  what  came  to 
them  by  Blakeley's  will. 

I  read  on,  to  see  what,  if  any,  contest  she  had 
intended  to  make.  And  as  I  read  I  could  picture  old 
Stuart  Blakeley  to  myself  —  strong,  direct,  un- 
scrupulous, a  man  who  knew  what  he  wanted  and 
got  it,  dominant,  close-mouthed,  mysterious.  He 
had  understood  and  estimated  the  future  of  New 
York.  On  that  he  had  founded  his  fortune. 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

According  to  the  old  lady's  story,  the  marriage 
was  a  complete  secret.  She  had  demanded  marriage 
when  he  had  demanded  her.  He  had  pointed  out 
the  difficulties.  The  original  property  had  come  to 
him  and  would  remain  in  his  hands  only  on  condition 
that  he  married  one  of  his  own  faith.  She  was  not 
of  the  faith  and  declined  to  become  so.  There  had 
been  other  family  reasons,  also.  They  had  been 
married,  with  the  idea  of  keeping  it  secret  until  he 
could  arrange  his  affairs  so  that  he  could  safely 
acknowledge  her. 

It  was,  according  to  her  story,  a  ruse.  When  she 
demanded  recognition  he  replied  that  the  marriage 
was  invalid,  that  the  minister  had  been  unfrocked 
before  the  ceremony.  She  was  not  in  law  his  wife 
and  had  no  claim,  he  asserted.  But  he  agreed  to 
compromise,  in  spite  of  it  all.  If  she  would  go  West 
and  not  return  or  intrude,  he  would  make  a  cash 
settlement.  Disillusioned,  she  took  the  offer  and 
went  to  California.  Somehow,  he  understood  that 
she  was  dead.  Years  later  he  married  again. 

Meanwhile  she  had  invested  her  settlement,  had 
prospered,  had  even  married  herself,  thinking  the 
first  marriage  void.  Then  her  second  husband  died 
and  evil  times  came.  Blakeley  was  dead,  but  she 
came  East.  Since  then  she  had  been  fighting  to 
establish  the  validity  of  the  first  marriage  and  hence 
her  claim  to  dower  rights.  It  was  a  moving  story. 

As  we  finished  reading,  Kennedy  gathered  the 
papers  together  and  took  charge  of  them.  Taking 
Chapelle,  who  by  this  time  was  in  a  high  state  of 
excitement  over  both  the  death  and  the  discovery, 
Kennedy  hurried  to  the  Blakeley  mansion,  stopping 

152 


THE    BEAUTY    MASK 

only  long  enough  to  telephone  to  Doctor  Haynes 
and  his  son. 

Evidently  the  news  had  spread.  Cynthia  Blakeley 
met  us  in  the  hall,  half  frightened,  yet  much  relieved. 

"Oh,  Professor  Kennedy,"  she  cried,  "I  don't 
know  what  it  is,  but  mother  seems  so  different. 
What  is  it  all  about?" 

As  Kennedy  said  nothing,  she  turned  to  Chapelle, 
whom  I  was  watching  narrowly.  ' '  What  is  it,  Carl  ?" 
she  whispered. 

"I — I  can't  tell,"  he  whispered  back,  guardedly. 
Then,  with  an  anxious  glance  at  the  rest  of  us,  "Is 
your  sister  any  better?" 

Cynthia's  face  clouded.  Relieved  though  she  was 
about  her  mother,  there  was  still  that  horror  for 
Virginia. 

"Come,"  I  interrupted,  not  wishing  to  let  Chapelle 
get  out  of  my  sight,  yet  wishing  to  follow  Kennedy, 
who  had  dashed  up-stairs. 

I  found  Craig  already  at  the  bedside  of  Virginia. 
He  had  broken  one  of  the  ampules  and  was  injecting 
some  of  the  extract  in  it  into  the  sleeping  girl's  arm. 
Mrs.  Blakeley  bent  over  eagerly  as  he  did  so.  Even 
in  her  manner  she  was  changed.  There  was  anxiety 
for  Virginia  yet,  but  one  could  feel  that  a  great  weight 
seemed  to  be  lifted  from  her. 

So  engrossed  was  I  in  watching  Kennedy  that  I 
did  not  hear  Doctor  Haynes  and  Hampton  enter. 
Chapelle  heard,  however,  and  turned. 

For  a  moment  he  gazed  at  Hampton.  Then  with 
a  slight  curl  of  the  lip  he  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "Is  it 
strictly  ethical  to  treat  a  patient  for  disease  of  the 
heart  when  she  is  suffering  from  anemia  —  if  you 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

have  an  interest  in  the  life  and  death  of  the 
patient?" 

I  watched  Hampton's  face  closely.  There  was 
indignation  in  every  line  of  it.  But  before  he  could 
reply  Doctor  Haynes  stepped  forward. 

"My  son  was  right  in  the  diagnosis,"  he  almost 
shouted,  shaking  a  menacing  finger  at  Chapelle. 
"To  come  to  the  point,  sir,  explain  that  mark  on 
Miss  Virginia's  forehead !" 

"Yes,"  demanded  Hampton,  also  taking  a  step 
toward  the  beauty  doctor,  "explain  it  —  if  you 
dare." 

Cynthia  suppressed  a  little  cry  of  fear.  For  a 
moment  I  thought  that  the  two  young  men  would 
forget  everything  in  the  heat  of  their  feelings. 

"Just  a  second,"  interposed  Kennedy,  quickly 
stepping  between  them.  "Let  me  do  the  talking." 
There  was  something  commanding  about  his  tone 
as  he  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  us. 

"The  trouble  with  Miss  Virginia,"  he  added, 
deliberately,  "seems  to  lie  in  one  of  what  the  scien- 
tists have  lately  designated  the  'endocrine  glands' — 
in  this  case  the  pituitary.  My  X-ray  pictures  show 
that  conclusively. 

"Let  me  explain  for  the  benefit  of  the  rest.  The 
pituitary  is  an  oval  glandular  body  composed  of  two 
lobes  and  a  connecting  area,  which  rest  in  the  sella 
turcica,  enveloped  by  a  layer  of  tissue,  about  under 
this  point."  He  indicated  the  red  spot  on  her 
forehead  as  he  spoke.  "It  is,  as  the  early  French 
surgeons  called  it,  Vorgane  tnigmatique.  The  an- 
cients thought  it  discharged  the  pituita,  or  mucus, 
into  the  nose.  Most  scientists  of  the  past  century 


THE    BEAUTY    MASK 

asserted  that  it  was  a  vestigial  relic  of  prehistoric 
usefulness.  To-day  we  know  better. 

"One  by  one  the  functions  of  the  internal  secre- 
tions are  being  discovered.  Our  variously  acquired 
bits  of  information  concerning  the  ductless  glands 
lie  before  us  like  the  fragments  of  a  modern  picture 
puzzle.  And  so,  I  may  tell  you,  in  connection  with 
recent  experimental  studies  of  the  r61e  of  the  pitui- 
tary, Doctor  Gushing  and  other  collaborators  at 
Johns  Hopkins  have  noticed  a  marked  tendency  to 
pass  into  a  profoundly  lethargic  state  when  the 
secretion  of  the  pituitary  is  totally  or  nearly  so 
removed." 

Kennedy  now  had  every  eye  riveted  on  him  as  he 
deftly  led  the  subject  straight  to  the  case  of  the  poor 
girl  before  us. 

"This,"  he  added,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  toward 
her,  "is  much  like  what  is  called  the  Frohlich  syn- 
drome— the  lethargy,  the  subnormal  temperature, 
slow  pulse,  and  respiration,  lowered  blood  pressure, 
and  insensitivity,  the  growth  of  fat  and  the  loss  of 
sex  characteristics.  It  has  a  name  —  dystrophia 
adiposogenitalis. ' ' 

He  nodded  to  Doctor  Haynes,  but  did  not  pause. 
"This  case  bears  a  striking  resemblance  to  the 
pronounced  natural  somnolence  of  hibernation. 
And  induced  hypopituitarism — under  activity  of  the 
gland — produces  a  result  just  like  natural  hiberna- 
tion. Hibernation  has  nothing  to  do  with  winter, 
or  with  food,  primarily;  it  is  connected  in  some  way 
with  this  little  gland  under  the  forehead. 

"As  the  pituitary  secretion  is  lessened,  the  block- 
ing action  of  the  fatigue  products  in  the  body  be- 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

comes  greater  and  morbid  somnolence  sets  in.  There 
is  a  high  tolerance  of  carbohydrates  which  are 
promptly  stored  as  fat.  I  am  surprised,  Doctor 
Haynes,  that  you  did  not  recognize  the  symptoms." 

A  murmur  from  Mrs.  Blakeley  cut  short  Doctor 
Haynes's  reply.  I  thought  I  noticed  a  movement  of 
the  still  face  on  the  white  bed. 

"Virgie!  Virgie!"  called  Mrs.  Blakeley,  dropping 
on  her  knee  beside  her  daughter. 

"  I'm  here— mother !" 

Virginia's  eyes  opened  ever  so  slightly.  Her  face 
turned  just  an  inch  or  two.  She  seemed  to  be 
making  a  great  effort,  but  it  lasted  only  a  moment. 
Then  she  slipped  back  into  the  strange  condition 
that  had  baffled  skilled  physicians  and  surgeons  for 
nearly  a  week. 

"The  sleep  is  being  dispelled,"  said  Kennedy, 
quietly  placing  his  hand  on  Mrs.  Blakeley's  shoulder. 
"It  is  a  sort  of  semi-consciousness  now  and  the  im- 
provement should  soon  be  great." 

"And  that?"  I  asked,  touching  the  empty  ampule 
from  which  he  had  injected  the  contents  into  her. 

"Pituitrin — the  extract  of  the  anterior  lobe  of  the 
pituitary  body.  Some  one  who  had  an  object  in 
removing  her  temporarily  probably  counted  on  re- 
storing her  to  her  former  blooming  womanhood 
by  pituitrin — and  by  removing  the  cause  of  the 
trouble." 

Kennedy  reached  into  his  pocket  and  drew  forth 
the  second  X-ray  photograph  he  had  taken.  "Mrs. 
Blakeley,  may  I  trouble  you  to  get  that  beauty 
mask  which  your  daughter  wore?" 

Mechanically  Mrs.  Blakeley  obeyed.  I  expected 
156 


THE    BEAUTY   MASK 

Chapelle  to  object,  but  not  a  word  broke  the  death- 
like stillness. 

"The  narcolepsy,"  continued  Kennedy,  taking  the 
mask,  "was  due,  I  find,  to  something  that  affected 
the  pituitary  gland.  I  have  here  a  photograph  of 
her  taken  when  she  was  wearing  the  mask."  He 
ran  his  finger  lightly  over  the  part  just  above  the 
eyes.  "Feel  that  little  lump,  Walter,"  he  directed. 

I  did  so.  It  was  almost  imperceptible,  but  there 
was  something. 

"What  is  it?"  Tasked. 

"Located  in  one  of  the  best  protected  and  most 
inaccessible  parts  of  the  body,"  Kennedy  considered, 
slowly,  "how  could  the  pituitary  be  reached?  If  you 
will  study  my  skiagraph,  you  will  see  how  I  got  my 
first  clue.  There  was  something  over  that  spot 
which  caused  the  refractory  sore.  What  was  it? 
Radium — carefully  placed  in  the  mask  with  guards 
of  lead  foil  in  such  a  way  as  to  protect  the  eyes,  but 
direct  the  emission  full  at  the  gland  which  was  to  be 
affected,  and  the  secretions  stopped." 

Chapelle  gave  a  gasp.    He  was  pale  and  agitated. 

"Some  of  you  have  already  heard  of  Reba  Rine- 
hart,"  shot  out  Kennedy,  suddenly  changing  the 
subject. 

Mrs.  Blakeley  could  not  have  been  more  astounded 
if  a  bomb  had  dropped  before  her.  Still  kneeling 
before  Virginia's  bed,  she  turned  her  startled  face 
at  Kennedy,  clasping  her  hands  in  appeal. 

"It  was  for  my  girls  that  I  tried  to  buy  her  off — 
for  their  good  name — their  fortune — their  future," 
she  cried,  imploringly. 

Kennedy  bent  down,   "I  know  that  is  all,"  he 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

reassured,  then,  facing  us,  went  on:  "Behind  that 
old  woman  was  a  secret  of  romantic  interest.  She 
was  contemplating  filing  suit  in  the  courts  to  recover 
a  widow's  interest  in  the  land  on  which  now  stand 
the  homes  of  millionaires,  hotel  palaces,  luxurious 
apartments,  and  popular  theaters — millions  of  dol- 
lars' worth  of  property." 

Cynthia  moved  over  and  drew  her  arms  about 
the  convulsed  figure  of  her  mother. 

' '  Some  one  else  knew  of  this  old  marriage  of  Stuart 
Blakeley,"  proceeded  Kennedy,  "knew  of  Reba 
Rinehart,  knew  that  she  might  die  at  any  moment. 
But  until  she  died  none  of  the  Blakeleys  could  be 
entirely  sure  of  their  fortune." 

It  flashed  over  me  that  Chapelle  might  have  con- 
ceived the  whole  scheme,  seeking  to  gain  the  entire 
fortune  for  Cynthia. 

"Who  was  interested  enough  to  plot  this  post- 
ponement of  the  wedding  until  the  danger  to  the 
fortune  was  finally  removed?"  I  caught  sight  of 
Hampton  Haynes,  his  eyes  riveted  on  the  face  on  the 
bed  before  us. 

Virginia  stirred  again.  This  time  her  eyes  opened 
wider.  As  if  in  a  dream  she  caught  sight  of  the  face 
of  her  lover  and  smiled  wanly. 

Could  it  have  been  Hampton?  It  seemed  in- 
credible. 

"The  old  lady  is  dead,"  pursued  Kennedy,  tensely. 
"Her  dower  right  died  with  her.  Nothing  can  be 
gained  by  bringing  her  case  back  again — except  to 
trouble  the  Blakeleys  in  what  is  rightfully  theirs." 

Gathering  up  the  beauty  mask,  the  X-ray  photo- 
graphs, and  the  papers  of  Mrs.  Rinehart,  Kennedy 

158 


THE    BEAUTY    MASK 

emphasized  with  them  the  words  as  he  whipped  them 
out  suddenly. 

"Postponing  the  marriage,  at  the  possible  expense 
of  Chapelle,  until  Reba  Rinehart  was  dead,  and 
trusting  to  a  wrong  diagnosis  and  Hampton's  inex- 
perience as  the  surest  way  of  bringing  that  result 
about  quickly,  it  was  your  inordinate  ambition  for 
your  son,  Doctor  Haynes,  that  led  you  on.  I  shall 
hold  these  proofs  until  Virginia  Blakeley  is  restored 
completely  to  health  and  beauty." 


VII 

THE   LOVE   METER 

"OINCE  we  brought  him  home,  my  brother  just 

O  tosses  and  gasps  for  air.  Oh,  I  think  Eulalie 
and  I  shall  both  go  mad!" 

The  soft,  pleading  voice  of  Anitra  Barrios  and  her 
big,  appealing  brown  eyes  filled  with  tears  were 
doubly  affecting  as,  in  spite  of  her  own  feelings,  she 
placed  her  hand  on  that  of  a  somewhat  younger  girl 
who  had  accompanied  her  to  the  laboratory. 

"We  were  to  have  been  married  next  month," 
sobbed  Eulalie  Sandoval.  "Can't  you  come  and  see 
Jose,  Professor  Kennedy?  There  must  be  some- 
thing you  can  do.  We  fear  he  is  dying  —  yes, 
dying." 

"Poor  little  girl!"  murmured  Anitra,  still  patting 
her  hand  affectionately,  then  to  us,  "You  know, 
Eulalie  is  the  sister  of  Manuel  Sandoval,  who  manages 
the  New  York  business  of  my  brother."  She  paused. 
^'Oh,  I  can't  believe  it,  myself.  It's  all  so  strange, 
so  sudden." 

For  the  moment  her  own  grief  overwhelmed 
Anitra,  and  both  sister  and  sweetheart  of  Jose 
Barrios  clung  to  each  other. 

"What  is  the  trouble?"  soothed  Craig.  "What 
has  happened?  How  can  I  help  you?" 

1 60 


THE    LOVE    METER 

"Everything  was  so  happy  with  us,"  cried  Anitra, 
"until  Jose  and  I  came  to  New  York — and — now — " 
She  broke  down  again. 

"Please  be  calm,"  encouraged  Kennedy.  "Tell 
me  everything — anything." 

With  an  effort  Anitra  began  again.  "It  was  last 
night — quite  late — at  his  office  at  the  foot  of  Wall 
Street — he  was  there  alone,"  she  strove  to  connect 
her  broken  thoughts.  "Some  one — I  think  it  must 
have  been  the  janitor — called  me  up  at  home  and 
said  that  my  brother  was  very  ill.  Eulalie  was  there 
with  me.  We  hurried  down  to  him.  When  we  got 
there  Jose  was  on  the  floor  by  his  desk,  unconscious, 
struggling  for  breath,  just  as  he  is  now." 

"Did  you  observe  anything  peculiar?"  queried 
Kennedy.  "Was  there  anything  that  might  give 
you  a  hint  of  what  had  happened?" 

Anitra  Barrios  considered.  "Nothing,"  she  re- 
plied, slowly,  "except  that  the  windows  were  all 
closed.  There  was  a  peculiar  odor  in  the  room.  I 
was  so  excited  over  Jose,  though,  that  I  couldn't  tell 
you  just  what  it  was  like." 

"What  did  you  do?"  inquired  Craig. 

"What  could  we  do,  just  two  girls,  all  alone?  It 
was  late.  The  streets  were  deserted.  You  know 
how  they  are  down-town  at  night.  We  took  him 
home,  to  the  hotel,  in  a  cab,  and  called  the  hotel 
physician,  Doctor  Scott." 

Both  girls  were  again  weeping  silently  in  each 
other's  arms.  If  there  was  anything  that  moved 
Kennedy  to  action  it  was  distress  of  this  sort.  With- 
out a  word  he  rose  from  his  desk,  and  I  followed  him. 
Anitra  and  Eulalie  seemed  to  understand.  Though 

161 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

they  said  nothing,  they  looked  their  gratitude  as 
we  four  left  the  laboratory. 

On  the  way  down  to  the  hotel  Anitra  continued 
to  pour  out  her  story  in  a  fragmentary  way.  Her 
brother  and  she,  it  seemed,  had  inherited  from  their 
father  a  large  sugar-plantation  in  Santa  Clara,  the 
middle  province  of  Cuba. 

Jose  had  not  been  like  many  of  the  planters. 
He  had  actually  taken  hold  of  the  plantation, 
after  the  revolution  had  wrecked  it,  and  had  re- 
established it  on  modern,  scientific  lines.  Now  it 
was  one  of  the  largest  independent  plantations  on 
the  island. 

To  increase  its  efficiency,  he  had  later  established 
a  New  York  office  to  look  after  the  sale  of  the  raw 
sugar  and  had  placed  it  in  charge  of  a  friend,  Manuel 
Sandoval.  A  month  or  so  before  he  had  come  to 
New  York  with  his  sister  to  sell  the  plantation,  to 
get  the  high  price  that  the  boom  in  sugar  had  made 
it  worth.  It  was  while  he  had  been  negotiating  for 
the  sale  that  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  Eulalie  and 
they  had  become  engaged. 

Doctor  Scott  met  us  in  the  sitting-room  of  the 
suite  which  Anitra  and  her  brother  occupied,  and, 
as  she  introduced  us,  with  an  anxious  glance  in  the 
direction  of  the  door  of  the  sick-room,  he  shook  his 
head  gravely,  though  he  did  his  best  to  seem 
encouraging. 

"It's  a  case  of  poisoning  of  some  kind,  I  fear," 
he  whispered  aside  to  us,  at  the  first  opportunity. 
"But  I  can't  quite  make  out  just  what  it  is." 

We  followed  the  doctor  into  the  room.  Eulalie 
had  preceded  us  and  had  dropped  down  on  her  knees 

162 


THE    LOVE    METER 

by  the  bed,  passing  her  little  white  hand  caressingly 
over  the  pale  and  distorted  face  of  Jose. 

He  was  still  unconscious,  gasping  and  fighting  for 
breath,  his  features  pinched  and  skin  cold  and 
clammy.  Kennedy  examined  the  stricken  man 
carefully,  first  feeling  his  pulse.  It  was  barely  per- 
ceptible, rapid,  thready,  and  irregular.  Now  and 
then  there  were  muscular  tremblings  and  convulsive 
movements  of  the  limbs.  Craig  moved  over  to  the 
side  of  the  room  away  from  the  two  girls,  where 
Doctor  Scott  was  standing. 

"Sometimes,"  I  heard  the  doctor  venture,  "I 
think  it  is  aconite,  but  the  symptoms  are  not  quite 
the  same.  Besides,  I  don't  see  how  it  could  have  been 
administered.  There's  no  mark  on  him  that  might 
have  come  from  a  hypodermic,  no  wound,  not  even 
a  scratch.  He  couldn't  have  swallowed  it.  Suicide 
is  out  of  the  question.  But  his  nose  and  throat  are 
terribly  swollen  and  inflamed.  It's  beyond  me." 

I  tried  to  recall  other  cases  I  had  seen.  There  was 
one  case  of  Kennedy's  in  which  several  deaths  had 
occurred  due  to  aconite.  Was  this  another  of  that 
sort?  I  felt  unqualified  to  judge,  where  Doctor 
Scott  himself  confessed  his  inability.  Kennedy 
himself  said  nothing,  and  from  his  face  I  gathered 
that  even  he  had  no  clue  as  yet. 

As  we  left  the  sick-room,  we  found  that  another 
visitor  had  arrived  and  was  standing  in  the  sitting- 
room.  It  was  Manuel  Sandoval. 

Sandoval  was  a  handsome  fellow,  tall,  straight  as 
an  arrow,  with  bushy  dark  hair  and  a  mustache 
which  gave  him  a  distinguished  appearance.  Born 
in  Cuba,  he  had  been  educated  in  the  United  States, 

163 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

had  taken  special  work  in  the  technology  of  sugar, 
knew  the  game  from  cane  to  centrifugal  and  the 
ship  to  the  sugar  trust.  He  was  quite  as  much  a 
scientist  as  a  business  man. 

He  and  Eulalie  talked  for  a  moment  in  low  tones 
in  Cuban  Spanish,  but  it  needed  only  to  watch  his 
eyes  to  guess  where  his  heart  was.  He  seemed  to 
fairly  devour  every  move  that  Anitra  made  about 
the  apartment. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  door  opened  again  and  a 
striking-looking  man  entered.  He  was  a  bit  older 
than  Sandoval,  but  still  young.  As  he  entered  he 
bowed  to  Sandoval  and  Eulalie  but  greeted  Anitra 
warmly. 

"Mr.  Burton  Page,"  introduced  Anitra,  turning 
to  us  quickly,  with  just  the  trace  of  a  flush  on  her 
face.  "Mr.  Page  has  been  putting  my  brother  in 
touch  with  people  in  New  York  who  are  interested 
in  Cuban  sugar-plantations." 

A  call  from  Doctor  Scott  for  some  help  took  both 
girls  into  the  sick-room  for  a  moment. 

"Is  Barrios  any  better?"  asked  Page,  turning  to 
Sandoval. 

Sandoval  shook  his  head  in  the  negative,  but  said 
nothing.  One  could  not  help  observing  that  there 
seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  antipathy  between  the  two, 
and  I  saw  that  Craig  was  observing  them  both 
closely. 

Page  was  a  typical,  breezy  Westerner,  who  had 
first  drifted  to  New  York  as  a  mining  promoter. 
From  that  he  had  gone  into  selling  ranches,  and,  by 
natural  stages,  into  the  promotion  of  almost  any- 
thing in  the  universe. 

164 


THE    LOVE   METER 

Sugar  being  at  the  time  uppermost  in  the  mind 
of  the  "Street,"  Page  was  naturally  to  be  found 
crammed  with  facts  about  that  staple.  One  could 
not  help  being  interested  in  studying  a  man  of  his 
type,  as  long  as  one  kept  his  grip  on  his  pocket-book. 
For  he  was  a  veritable  pied  piper  when  it  came  to 
enticing  dollars  to  follow  him,  and  in  his  promo- 
tions he  had  the  reputation  of  having  amassed  an 
impressive  pile  of  dollars  himself. 

No  important  change  in  the  condition  of  Barrios 
had  taken  place,  except  that  he  was  a  trifle  more 
exhausted,  and  Doctor  Scott  administered  a  stimu- 
lant. Kennedy,  who  was  eager  to  take  up  the  in- 
vestigation of  the  case  on  the  outside  in  the  hope  of 
discovering  something  that  might  be  dignified  into 
being  a  clue,  excused  himself,  with  a  nod  to  Anitra 
to  follow  into  the  hall 

"I  may  look  over  the  office?"  Craig  ventured 
when  we  were  alone  with  her. 

"Surely,"  she  replied,  frankly,  opening  her  hand- 
bag which  was  lying  on  a  table  near  the  door.  "I 
have  an  equal  right  in  the  business  with  my  brother. 
Here  are  the  keys.  The  office  has  been  closed 
to-day." 

Kennedy  took  the  keys,  promising  to  let  her  know 
the  moment  he  discovered  anything  important,  and 
we  hurried  directly  down- town. 

The  office  of  the  Barrios  Company  was  at  the  foot 
of  Wall  Street,  where  the  business  of  importing 
touched  on  the  financial  district.  From  the  window 
one  could  see  freighters  unloading  their  cargoes  at 
the  docks.  In  the  other  direction,  capital  to  the 
billions  was  represented.  But  in  all  that  interesting 
12  165 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

neighborhood  nothing  just  at  present  could  surpass 
the  mystery  of  what  had  taken  place  in  the  lonely 
little  office  late  the  night  before. 

Kennedy  passed  the  rail  that  shut  the  outer  office 
off  from  a  sort  of  reception  space.  He  glanced  about 
at  the  safe,  the  books,  papers,  and  letter-files.  It 
would  take  an  accountant  and  an  investigator  days, 
perhaps  weeks,  to  trace  out  anything  in  them,  if 
indeed  it  were  worth  while  at  all. 

Two  glass  doors  opened  at  one  end  to  two  smaller 
private  offices,  one  belonging  evidently  to  Sandoval, 
the  other  to  Barrios.  What  theory  Craig  formed  I 
could  not  guess,  but  as  he  tiptoed  from  the  hall  door, 
past  the  rail,  to  the  door  of  Jose's  office,  I  could  see 
that  first  of  all  he  was  trying  to  discover  whether  it 
was  possible  to  enter  the  outer  office  and  reach  Jose's 
door  unseen  and  unheard  by  any  one  sitting  at  the 
desk  inside.  Apparently  it  was  easily  possible,  and 
he  paused  a  moment  to  consider  what  good  that 
knowledge  might  do. 

As  he  did  so  his  eye  rested  on  the  floor.  A  few 
feet  away  stood  one  of  the  modern  "sanitary"  desks. 
In  this  case  the  legs  of  the  desk  raised  the  desk  high 
enough  from  the  floor  so  that  one  could  at  least  see 
where  the  cleaning-woman  had  left  a  small  pile  of 
unsanitary  dust  near  the  wall. 

Suddenly  Kennedy  bent  down  and  poked  some- 
thing out  of  the  pile  of  dust.  There  on  the  floor  was 
an  empty  shell  of  a  cartridge.  Kennedy  picked  it 
up  and  looked  at  it  curiously. 

What  did  it  mean?  I  recalled  that  Doctor  Scott 
had  particularly  said  that  Barrios  had  not  been 
wounded. 

166 


THE    LOVE   METER 

Still  regarding  the  cartridge  shell,  Kennedy  sat 
down  at  the  desk  of  Barrios. 

Looking  for  a  piece  of  paper  in  which  to  wrap  the 
shell,  he  pulled  out  the  middle  drawer  of  the  desk. 
In  a  back  corner  was  a  package  of  letters,  neatly 
tied.  We  glanced  at  them.  The  envelopes  bore  the 
name  of  Jose  Barrios  and  were  in  the  handwriting 
of  a  woman.  Some  were  postmarked  Cuba;  others, 
later,  New  York.  Kennedy  opened  one  of  them. 

I  could  not  restrain  an  exclamation  of  astonish- 
ment. I  had  expected  that  they  were  from  Eulalie 
Sandoval.  But  they  were  signed  by  a  name  that  we 
had  not  heard — Teresa  de  Leon! 

Hastily  Kennedy  read  through  the  open  letter.  Its 
tone  seemed  to  be  that  of  a  threat.  One  sentence  I 
recall  was,  "I  would  follow  you  anywhere  —  I'll 
make  you  want  me." 

One  after  another  Kennedy  ran  through  them. 
All  were  vague  and  veiled,  as  though  the  writer 
wished  by  some  circumlocution  to  convey  an  idea 
that  would  not  be  apparent  to  some  third,  inquisitive 
party. 

What  was  back  of  it  all?  Had  Jose  been  making 
love  to  another  woman  at  the  same  time  that  he  was 
engaged  to  Eulalie  Sandoval?  As  far  as  the  contents 
of  the  letters  went  there  was  nothing  to  show  that 
he  had  done  anything  wrong.  The  mystery  of  the 
"other  woman"  only  served  to  deepen  the  mystery 
of  what  little  we  already  knew. 

Craig  dropped  the  letters  into  his  pocket  along 
with  the  shell,  and  walked  around  into  the  office  of 
Sandoval.  I  followed  him.  Quickly  he  made  a 
search,  but  it  did  not  seem  to  net  him  anything. 

167 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

Meanwhile  I  had  been  regarding  a  queer-looking 
instrument  that  stood  on  a  flat  table  against  one 
wall.  It  seemed  to  consist  of  a  standard  on  each 
end  of  which  was  fastened  a  disk,  besides  several 
other  arrangements  the  purpose  of  which  I  had  not 
the  slightest  idea.  Between  the  two  ends  rested  a 
glass  tube  of  some  liquid.  At  one  end  was  a  lamp; 
the  other  was  fitted  with  an  eyepiece  like  a  telescope. 
Beside  the  instrument  on  the  table  lay  some  more 
glass-capped  tubes  and  strewn  about  were  samples 
of  raw  sugar. 

"It  is  a  saccharimeter,"  explained  Kennedy,  also 
looking  at  it,  "an  instrument  used  to  detect  the 
amount  of  sugar  held  in  solution,  a  form  of  the 
polariscope.  We  won't  go  into  the  science  of  it  now. 
It's  rather  abstruse." 

He  was  about  to  turn  back  into  the  outer  office 
when  an  idea  seemed  to  occur  to  him.  He  took  the 
cartridge  from  his  pocket  and  carefully  scraped  off 
what  he  could  of  the  powder  that  still  adhered  to  the 
outer  rim.  It  was  just  a  bit,  but  he  dissolved  it  in 
some  liquid  from  a  bottle  on  the  table,  filled  one  of 
the  clean  glass  tubes,  capped  the  open  end,  and 
placed  this  tube  in  the  saccharimeter  where  the  first 
one  I  noticed  had  been. 

Carefully  he  lighted  the  lamp,  then  squinted 
through  the  eyepiece  at  the  tube  of  liquid  contain- 
ing what  he  had  derived  from  the  cartridge.  He 
made  some  adjustments,  and  as  he  did  so  his  face 
indicated  that  at  last  he  began  to  see  something 
dimly.  The  saccharimeter  had  opened  the  first  rift 
in  the  haze  that  surrounded  the  case. 

"I  think  I  know  what  we  have  here,"  he  said, 
168 


THE   LOVE   METER 

briefly,  rising  and  placing  the  tube  and  its  contents 
in  his  pocket  with  the  other  things  he  had  discovered. 
"Of  course  it  is  only  a  hint.  This  instrument  won't 
tell  me  finally.  But  it  is  worth  following  up." 

With  a  final  glance  about  to  make  sure  that  we 
had  overlooked  nothing,  Kennedy  closed  and  locked 
the  outside  door. 

"I'm  going  directly  up  to  the  laboratory,  Walter," 
decided  Kennedy.  "Meanwhile  you  can  help  me 
very  much  if  you  will  look  up  this  Teresa  de  Leon. 
I  noticed  that  the  New  York  letters  were  written 
on  the  stationery  of  the  Pan-America  Hotel.  Get 
what  you  can.  I  leave  it  to  you.  And  if  you  can 
find  out  anything  about  the  others,  so  much  the 
better.  I'll  see  you  as  soon  as  you  finish." 

It  was  rather  a  large  contract.  If  the  story  had 
reached  the  newspaper  stage,  I  should  have  known 
how  to  go  about  it.  For  there  is  no  detective  agency 
in  the  world  like  the  Star,  and  even  on  the  slender 
basis  that  we  had,  with  a  flock  of  reporters  deployed 
at  every  point  in  the  city,  with  telephones,  wires, 
and  cables  busily  engaged,  I  might  have  gathered 
priceless  information  in  a  few  hours.  But,  as  it  was, 
whatever  was  to  be  got  must  be  got  by  me  alone. 

I  found  Teresa  de  Leon  registered  at  the  Pan- 
America,  as  Craig  had  surmised.  Such  inquiries  as 
I  was  able  to  make  about  the  hotel  did  not  show  a 
trace  of  reason  for  believing  that  Jose  Barrios  had 
been  numbered  among  her  visitors.  While  that 
proved  nothing  as  to  the  relations  of  the  two,  it  was 
at  least  reassuring  as  far  as  Anitra  and  Eulalie  were 
concerned,  and,  after  all,  as  in  such  cases,  this  was 
their  story. 

169 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

Not  having  been  able  to  learn  much  about  the 
lady,  I  decided  finally  to  send  up  my  card,  and  to  my 
satisfaction  she  sent  back  word  that  she  would  re- 
ceive me  in  the  parlor  of  the  hotel. 

Teresa  de  Leon  proved  to  be  a  really  striking 
type  of  Latin- American  beauty.  She  was  no  longer 
young,  but  there  was  an  elusiveness  about  her  per- 
sonality that  made  a  more  fascinating  study  than 
youth.  I  felt  that  with  such  a  woman  directness 
might  be  more  of  a  surprise  than  subtlety. 

"I  suppose  you  know  that  Sefior  Barrios  is  very 
seriously  ill?"  I  ventured,  in  answer  to  her  inquiring 
gaze  that  played  from  my  card  to  my  face. 

For  a  fleeting  instant  she  looked  startled.  Yet 
she  betrayed  nothing  as  to  ^whether  it  was  fear  or 
surprise. 

"I  have  called  his  office  several  times,"  she  re- 
plied, "but  no  one  answered.  Even  Sefior  Sandoval 
was  not  there." 

I  felt  that  she  was  countering  as  cleverly  as  I 
might  lead.  "Then  you  know  Mr.  Sandoval  also?" 
I  asked,  adding,  "and  Mr.  Page?" 

"I  have  known  Sefior  Barrios  a  long  time  in  Cuba," 
she  answered,  "and  the  others,  too — here." 

There  was  something  evasive  about  her  answers. 
She  was  trying  to  say  neither  too  much  nor  too 
little.  She  left  one  in  doubt  whether  she  was  trying 
to  shield  herself  or  to  involve  another.  Though  we 
chatted  several  minutes,  I  could  gain  nothing  that 
would  lead  me  to  judge  how  intimately  she  knew 
Barrios.  Except  that  she  knew  Sandoval  and  Page, 
her  conversation  might  have  been  a  replica  of  the 
letters  we  had  discovered.  Even  when  she  hinted 

170 


THE    LOVE    METER 

politely,  but  finally,  that  the  talk  was  over  she  left 
me  in  doubt  even  whether  she  was  an  adventuress. 
The  woman  was  an  enigma.  Had  revenge  or  jeal- 
ousy brought  her  to  New  York,  or  was  she  merely  a 
tool  in  the  hands  of  another? 

I  was  not  ready  to  return  to  Kennedy  merely 
with  another  unanswered  question,  and  I  deter- 
mined to  stop  again  at  the  hotel  where  Barrios  and 
his  sister  lived,  in  the  hope  of  picking  up  something 
there. 

The  clerk  at  the  desk  told  me  that  no  one  had 
called  since  we  had  been  there,  adding:  "Except 
the  tall  gentleman,  who  came  back.  I  think  Senorita 
Barrios  came  down  and  met  him  in  the  tea-room." 

Wondering  whether  it  was  Page  or  Sandoval  the 
clerk  meant,  I  sauntered  down  the  corridor  past  the 
door  of  the  tea-room.  It  was  Page  with  whom 
Anitra  was  talking.  There  was  no  way  in  which  I 
could  hear  what  was  said,  although  Page  was  very 
earnest  and  Anitra  showed  plainly  that  she  was 
anxious  to  return  to  the  sick-room  up-stairs. 

As  I  watched,  I  took  good  care  that  I  should  not 
be  seen.  It  was  well  that  I  did,  for  once  when  I 
looked  about  I  saw  that  some  one  else  in  another 
doorway  was  watching  them,  too,  so  intently  that 
he  did  not  see  me.  It  was  Sandoval.  Jealousy  of 
Page  was  written  in  every  line  of  his  face. 

Studying  the  three,  while  I  could  not  escape  the 
rivalry  of  the  two  men,  I  was  unable  to  see  now  or 
recollect  anything  that  had  happened  which  would 
convey  even  an  inkling  of  her  feelings  toward  them. 
Yet  I  was  convinced  that  that  way  lay  a  problem 
quite  as  important  as  relations  between  the  other 

171 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

triangle  of  Eulalie,  Teresa,  and  Barrios.  I  was  not 
psychologist  enough  to  deal  with  either  triangle. 
There  was  something  that  distinctly  called  for  the 
higher  mathematics  of  Kennedy. 

Determined  not  to  return  to  him  entirely  empty- 
mouthed,  I  thought  it  would  be  a  good  opportunity 
to  see  Eulalie  alone,  and  hurried  to  the  elevator, 
which  whisked  me  up  to  the  Barrios  apartment. 

Doctor  Scott  had  not  left  his  patient,  though  he 
seemed  to  realize  that  Eulalie  was  a  most  efficient 
nurse. 

"No  change,"  whispered  the  doctor,  "except  that 
he  is  reaching  a  crisis."  , 

Interested  as  I  was  in  the  patient,  it  had  been  for 
the  purpose  of  seeing  Eulalie  that  I  had  come,  and  I 
was  glad  when  Doctor  Scott  left  us  a  moment. 

"Has  Mr.  Kennedy  found  out  anything  yet?" 
she  asked,  in  a  tremulous  whisper. 

"I  think  he  is  on  the  right  track  now,"  I  en- 
couraged. "Has  anything  happened  here?  Remem- 
ber— it  is  quite  as  important  that  you  should  tell 
him  all  as  it  is  for  him  to  tell  you." 

She  looked  at  me  a  moment,  then  drew  from  a  fold 
of  her  waist  a  yellow  paper.  It  was  a  telegram.  I 
took  it  and  read: 

Beware  of  Teresa  de  Leon,  Hotel  Pan-America. 

A  FRIEND. 

"You  know  her?"  I  asked,  folding  the  telegram, 
but  not  returning  it. 

Eulalie  looked  at  me  frankly  and  shook  her  head. 
"I  have  no  idea  who  she  is." 

"Or  of  who  sent  the  telegram?" 
172 


THE    LOVE   METER 

"None  at  all." 

"When  did  you  receive  it?" 

"Only  a  few  minutes  ago." 

Here  was  another  mystery.  Who  had  sent  the 
anonymous  telegram  to  Eulalie  so  soon  after  it  had 
been  evident  that  Kennedy  had  entered  the  case? 
What  was  its  purpose? 

"I  may  keep  this?"  I  asked,  indicating  the  tele- 
gram. 

"I  was  about  to  send  it  to  Professor  Kennedy," 
she  replied.  "Oh,  I  hope  he  will  find  something. 
Won't  you  go  to  him  and  tell  him  to  hurry?" 

I  needed  no  urging,  not  only  for  her  sake,  but  also 
because  I  did  not  wish  to  be  seen  or  to  have  the 
receipt  of  the  telegram  by  Kennedy  known  so  soon. 

In  the  hotel  I  stopped  only  long  enough  to  see  that 
Anitra  was  now  hurrying  toward  the  elevator,  eager 
to  get  back  to  her  brother  and  oblivious  to  every 
one  around.  What  had  become  of  Page  and  the 
sinister  watcher  whom  he  had  not  seen  I  did  not 
know,  nor  did  I  have  time  to  find  out. 

A  few  moments  later  I  rejoined  Kennedy  at  the 
laboratory.  He  was  still  immersed  in  work,  and, 
scarcely  stopping,  nodded  to  me  to  tell  what  I  had 
discovered.  He  listened  with  interest  until  I  came 
to  the  receipt  of  the  anonymous  telegram. 

"Did  you  get  it?"  he  asked,  eagerly. 

He  almost  seized  it  from  my  hands  as  I  pulled  it 
out  of  my  pocket  and  studied  it  intently. 

"Strange,"  he  muttered.  "Any  of  them  might 
have  sent  it." 

"Have  you  discovered  anything?"  I  asked,  for  I 
had  been  watching  him,  consumed  by  curiosity,  as  I 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

told  my  story.  "Do  you  know  yet  how  the  thing 
was  done?" 

"I  think  I  do,"  he  replied,  abstractedly. 

"How  was  it?"  I  prompted,  for  his  mind  was  now 
on  the  telegram. 

"A  poison-gas  pistol,"  he  resumed,  coming  back 
to  the  work  he  had  just  been  doing.  "Instead  of 
bullets,  this  pistol  used  cartridges  charged  with  some 
deadly  powder.  It  might  have  been  something  like 
the  anesthetic  pistol  devised  by  the  police  authori- 
ties in  Paris  some  years  ago  when  the  motor  bandits 
were  operating." 

"But  who  could  have  used  it?"  I  asked. 

Kennedy  did  not  answer  directly.  Either  he  was 
not  quite  sure  yet  or  did  not  feel  that  the  time  was 
ripe  to  hazard  a  theory.  ' '  In  this  case, ' '  he  continued, 
after  a  moment's  thought,  "I  shouldn't  be  surprised 
if  even  the  wielder  of  the  pistol  probably  wore  a 
mask,  doubly  effective,  for  disguise  and  to  protect 
the  wielder  from  the  fumes  that  were  to  overcome 
the  victim." 

"You  have  no  idea  who  it  was?"  I  reiterated. 

Before  Kennedy  could  answer  there  came  a  violent 
ring  at  the  laboratory  bell,  and  I  hurried  to  the  door. 
It  was  one  of  the  bell-boys  from  the  hotel  where  the 
Barrioses  had  their  apartment,  with  a  message  for 
Kennedy. 

Craig  tore  it  open  and  read  it  hurriedly.  "From 
Doctor  Scott,"  he  said,  briefly,  in  answer  to  my 
anxious  query.  "Barrios  is  dead." 

Even  though  I  had  been  prepared  for  the  news 
by  my  last  visit,  death  came  as  a  shock,  as  it  always 
does.  I  had  felt  all  along  that  Kennedy  had  been 


THE   LOVE   METER 

called  in  too  late  to  do  anything  to  save  Barrios,  but 
I  had  been  hoping  against  hope.  But  I  knew  that 
it  was  not  too  late  to  catch  the  criminal  who  had 
done  the  dastardly,  heartless  deed.  A  few  hours 
and  perhaps  all  clues  might  have  been  covered  up. 
But  there  is  always  something  that  goes  wrong  with 
crime,  always  some  point  where  murder  cannot  be 
covered  up.  I  think  if  people  could  only  be  got  to 
realize  it,  as  my  experience  both  on  the  Star  and 
with  Kennedy  have  impressed  it  on  me,  murder 
would  become  a  lost  art. 

Without  another  word  Kennedy  seized  his  hat 
and  together  we  hurried  to  the  hotel. 

We  found  Anitra  crying  softly  to  herself,  while 
near  her  sat  Eulalie,  tearless,  stunned  by  the  blow, 
broken-hearted.  In  the  realization  of  the  tragedy 
everything  had  been  forgotten,  even  the  mysterious 
anonymous  telegram  signed,  Judas-like,  "A  Friend." 

Sandoval,  we  learned,  had  been  there  when  the 
end  came,  and  had  now  gone  out  to  make  what 
arrangements  were  necessary.  I  had  nothing  against 
the  man,  but  I  could  not  help  feeling  that,  now  that 
the  business  was  all  Anitra's,  might  he  not  be  the 
one  to  profit  most  by  the  death?  The  fact  was  that 
Kennedy  had  expressed  so  little  opinion  on  the  case 
so  far  that  I  might  be  pardoned  for  suspecting  any 
one — even  Teresa  de  Leon,  who  must  have  seen 
Jose  slipping  away  from  her  in  spite  of  her  pursuit, 
whatever  actuated  it. 

It  was  while  I  was  in  the  midst  of  these  fruitless 
speculations  that  Doctor  Scott  beckoned  us  outside, 
and  we  withdrew  quietly. 

"I  don't  know  that  there  is  anything  more  that 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

I  can  do,"  he  remarked,  "but  I  promised  Senor 
Sandoval  that  I  would  stay  here  until  he  came  back. 
He  begged  me  to,  seems  scarcely  to  know  how  to  do 
enough  to  comfort  his  sister  and  Senorita  Barrios." 

I  listened  to  the  doctor  keenly.  Was  it  possible 
that  Sandoval  had  one  of  those  Jekyll-Hyde  natures 
which  seem  to  be  so  common  in  some  of  us?  Had 
his  better  nature  yielded  to  his  worse?  To  my 
mind  that  has  often  been  an  explanation  of  crime, 
never  an  adequate  defense. 

Kennedy  was  about  to  say  something  when  the 
elevator  door  down  the  hall  opened.  I  expected  that 
it  was  Sandoval  returning,  but  it  was  Burton  Page. 

"They  told  me  you  were  here,"  he  said,  greeting 
us.  "I  have  been  looking  all  over  for  you,  down  at 
your  laboratory  and  at  your  apartment.  Would  you 
mind  stepping  down  around  the  bend  in  the  hall?" 

We  excused  ourselves  from  Doctor  Scott,  wonder- 
ing what  Page  had  to  reveal. 

"I  knew  Sandoval  had  not  returned,"  he  began 
as  soon  as  we  were  out  of  ear-shot  of  the  doctor, 
"and  I  don't  want  to  see  him — again — not  after 
what  happened  this  afternoon.  The  man  is  crazy." 
We  had  reached  an  alcove  and  sank  down  into  a  soft 
settee. 

"Why,  what  was  that?"  I  asked,  recalling  the 
look  of  hate  on  the  man's  face  as  he  had  watched 
Page  talking  to  Anitra  in  the  tea-room. 

"I'm  giving  you  this  for  what  it  may  be  worth," 
began  Page,  turning  from  me  to  Kennedy.  "Down 
in  the  lobby  this  afternoon,  after  you  had  been  gone 
some  time,  I  happened  to  run  into  Sandoval.  He 
almost  seized  hold  of  me.  'You  have  been  at  the 

176 


THE    LOVE    METER 

office,'  he  said.  'You've  been  rummaging  around 
there.'  Well,  I  denied  it  flatly.  'Who  took  those 
letters?'  he  shot  back  at  me.  All  I  could  do  was  to 
look  at  him.  'I  don't  know  about  any  letters.  What 
letters?'  I  asked.  Oh,  he's  a  queer  fellow  all  right. 
I  thought  he  was  going  to  kill  me  by  the  black  look 
he  gave  me.  He  cooled  down  a  bit,  but  I  didn't  wait 
for  any  apology.  The  best  thing  to  do  with  these 
hot-headed  people  is  to  cut  out  and  let  them  alone." 

"How  do  you  account  for  his  strange  actions?" 
asked  Kennedy.  "Have  you  ever  heard  anything 
more  that  he  did?" 

Page  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  if  in  doubt  whether 
to  say  anything,  then  decided  quickly.  "The  other 
day  I  heard  Barrios  and  Sandoval  in  the  office. 
They  were  quite  excited.  Barrios  was  talking 
loudly.  I  didn't  know  at  first  what  it  was  all  about. 
But  I  soon  found  out.  Sandoval  had  gone  to  him, 
as  the  head  of  the  family,  following  their  custom,  I 
believe,  to  ask  whether  he  might  seek  to  win  Anitra." 

"Have  you  ever  heard  of  Teresa  de  Leon?"  in- 
terrupted Kennedy  suddenly. 

Page  looked  at  him  and  hesitated.  "There's 
some  scandal,  there,  I'm  afraid,"  he  nodded,  com- 
bining his  answers.  "I  heard  Sandoval  say  some- 
thing about  her  to  Barrios  that  day  —  warn  him 
against  something.  That  was  when  the  argument 
was  heated.  It  seemed  to  make  Barrios  angry. 
Sandoval  said  something  about  Barrios  refusing  to 
let  him  court  Anitra  while  at  the  same  time  Barrios 
was  engaged  to  Eulalie.  Barrios  retorted  that  the 
cases  were  different.  He  said  he  had  decided  that 
Anitra  was  going  to  marry  an  American  millionaire." 

177 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

There  could  be  no  doubt  about  how  Page  himself 
interpreted  the  remark.  It  was  evident  that  he  took 
it  to  mean  himself. 

"Sandoval  had  warned  against  this  De  Leon?" 
asked  Kennedy,  evidently  having  in  mind  the 
anonymous  telegram. 

"Something — I  don't  know  what  it  was  all  about," 
returned  Page,  then  added,  in  a  burst  of  confidence: 
"I  never  heard  of  the  lady  until  she  came  to  New 
York  and  introduced  herself  to  me.  For  a  time  she 
was  interesting.  But  I'm  too  old  for  that  sort  of 
thing.  Besides,  she  always  impressed  me  as  though 
she  had  some  ulterior  motive,  as  though  she  was 
trying  to  get  at  something  through  me.  I  cut  it 
all  out." 

Kennedy  nodded,  but  for  a  moment  said  nothing. 

"I  think  I'll  be  getting  out,"  remarked  Page,  with 
a  half  smile.  "I  don't  want  a  knife  in  the  back. 
I  thought  you  ought  to  know  all  this,  though.  And 
if  I  hear  anything  else  I'll  let  you  know." 

Kennedy  thanked  him  and  together  we  rode  down 
in  the  next  elevator,  parting  with  Page  at  the  hotel 
entrance. 

It  was  still  early  in  the  evening,  and  Kennedy  had 
no  intention  now  of  wasting  a  moment.  He  beck- 
oned for  a  cab  and  directed  the  man  to  drive  im- 
mediately to  the  Pan-America. 

This  time  Teresa  de  Leon  was  plainly  prepared  for 
a  visit,  though  I  am  not  sure  that  she  was  prepared 
to  receive  two  visitors. 

"I  believe  you  were  acquainted  with  Sefior 
Barrios,  who  died  to-night?"  opened  Kennedy,  after 
I  had  introduced  him. 

178 


THE    LOVE    METER 

"He  was  acquainted  with  me,"  she  corrected,  with 
a  purr  in  her  voice  that  suggested  claws. 

"You  were  not  married  to  him,"  shot  out  Kennedy; 
then  before  she  could  reply,  "nor  even  engaged." 

"He  had  known  me  a  long  time.  We  were  inti- 
mate— " 

"Friends,"  interrupted  Kennedy,  leaving  no  doubt 
as  to  the  meaning  of  his  emphasis. 

She  colored.  It  was  evident  that,  at  least  to  her, 
it  was  more  than  friendship. 

"Senor  Sandoval  says,"  romanced  Kennedy,  in 
true  detective  style,  "that  you  wrote — " 

It  was  her  turn  to  interrupt.  "If  Senor  Sandoval 
says  anything  against  me,  he  tells  what  is  not — the 
truth." 

In  spite  of  Kennedy's  grilling  she  was  still  mistress 
of  herself. 

"You  introduced  yourself  to  Burton  Page,  and — " 

"You  had  better  remember  your  own  proverb," 
she  retorted.  "Don't  believe  anything  you  hear 
and  only  half  you  see." 

Kennedy  snapped  down  the  yellow  telegram  be- 
fore her.  It  was  a  dramatic  moment.  The  woman 
did  not  flinch  at  the  anonymous  implication.  Straight 
into  Kennedy's  eyes  she  shot  a  penetrating  glance. 

"Watch  both  of  them,"  she  replied,  shortly,  then 
turned  and  deliberately  swept  out  of  the  hotel 
parlor  as  though  daring  us  to  go  as  far  as  we  cared. 

"I  think  we  have  started  forces  working  for  us," 
remarked  Kennedy,  coolly  consulting  his  watch. 
"For  the  present  at  least  let  us  retire  to  the  labora- 
tory. Some  one  will  make  a  move.  My  game  is  to 
play  one  against  the  other — until  the  real  one  breaks." 

179 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

We  had  scarcely  switched  on  the  lights  and  Ken- 
nedy was  checking  over  the  results  he  had  obtained 
during  his  afternoon's  investigations,  when  the  door 
was  flung  open  and  a  man  dashed  in  on  us  unex- 
pectedly. It  was  Sandoval,  and  as  he  advanced 
furiously  at  Kennedy  I  more  than  feared  that 
Page's  idea  was  correct. 

"It  was  you,  Kennedy,"  he  hissed,  "who  took 
those  letters  from  Jose's  desk.  It  is  you — or  Page 
back  of  you — who  are  trying  to  connect  me  with  that 
woman,  De  Leon.  But  let  me  tell  you — 

A  sharp  click  back  of  Sandoval  caused  him  to  cut 
short  the  remark  and  look  about  apprehensively. 
Kennedy's  finger,  sliding  along  the  edge  of  the  labora- 
tory table,  had  merely  found  an  electric  button  by 
which  he  could  snap  the  lock  on  the  door. 

"We  are  two  to  one,"  returned  Kennedy,  non- 
chalantly. "That  was  nothing  but  the  lock  on  the 
door  closing.  Mr.  Jameson  has  a  revolver  in  the  top 
drawer  of  his  desk  over  there.  You  will  pardon  me 
if  I  do  a  little  telephoning — through  the  central 
office  of  the  detective  bureau?  Some  of  our  friends 
may  not  be  overanxious  to  come  here,  and  it  may 
be  necessary  to  compel  their  attendance." 

Sandoval  subsided  into  a  sullen  silence  as  Kennedy 
made  arrangements  to  have  Burton  Page,  Anitra, 
Eulalie,  and  Teresa  de  Leon  hurried  to  us  at  once. 

There  was  nothing  for  me  to  do  but  watch  Sando- 
val as  Kennedy  prepared  a  little  instrument  with  a 
scale  and  dial  upon  which  rested  an  indicator  re- 
sembling a  watch  hand,  something  like  the  new 
horizontal  clocks  which  have  only  one  hand  to 
register  seconds,  minutes,  and  hours.  In  them,  like 

180 


THE   LOVE   METER 

a  thermometer  held  sidewise,  the  hand  moves  along 
from  zero  to  twenty-four.  In  this  instrument  a  little 
needle  did  the  same  thing.  Pairs  of  little  wire-like 
strings  ran  to  the  instrument. 

Kennedy  had  finished  adjusting  another  instru- 
ment which  was  much  like  the  saccharimeter,  only 
more  complicated,  when  the  racing  of  an  engine  out- 
side announced  the  arrival  of  the  party  in  one  of  the. 
police  department  cars. 

Between  us,  Craig  and  I  lost  no  time  in  disposing 
the  visitors  so  that  each  was  in  possession  of  a  pair 
of  the  wire-like  strings,  and  then  disdaining  to  explain 
why  he  had  gathered  them  together  so  unceremo- 
niously, Kennedy  turned  and  finished  adjusting  the 
other  apparatus. 

"Most  people  regard  light,  so  abundant,  so  nec- 
essary, so  free  as  a  matter  of  course,"  he  remarked, 
contemplatively.  "Not  one  person  in  ten  thousand 
ever  thinks  of  its  mysterious  nature  or  ever  attempts 
to  investigate  it.  In  fact,  most  of  us  are  in  utter 
darkness  as  to  light." 

He  paused,  tapped  the  machine  and  went  on, 
"This  is  a  polarimeter — a  simple  polariscope — a 
step  beyond  the  saccharimeter,"  he  explained,  with 
a  nod  at  Sandoval.  "It  detects  differences  of  struct- 
ure in  substances  not  visible  in  ordinary  light. 

' '  Light  is  polarized  in  several  ways — by  reflection, 
by  transmission,  but  most  commonly  through  what 
I  have  here,  a  prism  of  calcite,  or  Iceland  spar, 
commonly  called  a  Nicol  prism.  Light  fully  polar- 
ized consists  of  vibrations  transverse  to  the  direc- 
tion of  the  ray,  all  in  one  plane.  Ordinary  light  has 
transverse  vibrations  in  all  planes.  Certain  sub- 
is  181 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

stances,  due  to  their  molecular  structure,  are  trans- 
parent to  vibrations  in  one  plane,  but  opaque  to 
those  at  right  angles. 

"Here  we  have,"  he  explained,  tapping  the  parts 
in  order,  "a  source  of  light,  passing  in  through  this 
aperture,  here  a  Nicol  polarizer,  next  a  liquid  to  be 
examined  in  a  glass-capped  tube;  here  on  this  other 
side  an  arrangement  of  quartz  plates  with  rotary  power 
which  I  will  explain  in  a  moment,  next  an  analyzer, 
and  finally  the  aperture  for  the  eye  of  an  observer." 

Kennedy  adjusted  the  glass  tube  containing  the 
liquid  which  bore  the  substance  scraped  from  the 
cartridge  he  had  picked  up  in  the  office  of  Jose. 
"Look  through  the  eyepiece,  Walter,"  he  directed. 

The  field  appeared  halved.  He  made  an  adjust- 
ment and  at  once  the  field  of  vision  appeared  wholly 
the  same  tint.  When  he  removed  the  tube  it  was 
dark. 

"If  a  liquid  has  not  what  we  call  rotary  power 
both  halves  of  the  double  disk  appear  of  the  same 
tint,"  he  explained.  "If  it  has  rotary  power,  the 
halves  appear  of  different  tints  and  the  degree  of 
rotation  is  measured  by  the  alteration  of  thickness 
of  this  double  quartz  plate  necessary  to  counteract 
it.  It  is,  as  I  told  Mr.  Jameson  early  to-day,  a 
rather  abstruse  subject,  this  of  polarized  light.  I 
shall  not  bore  you  with  it,  but  I  think  you  will  see 
in  a  moment  why  it  is  necessary,  perhaps  why  some 
one  who  knew  thought  it  would  never  be  used. 

"What  I  am  getting  at  now  is  that  some  sub- 
stances with  the  same  chemical  formula  rotate 
polarized  light  to  the  right,  are  dextro-rotary,  as,  for 
instance,  what  is  known  as  dextrose.  Others  rotate 

182 


THE    LOVE    METER 

it  to  the  left,  are  levo-rotary,  as  the  substance  called 
levose.  Both  of  them  are  glucose.  So  there  are 
substances  which  give  the  same  chemical  reactions 
which  can  only  be  distinguished  by  their  being  left 
or  right  rotary." 

Craig  took  a  bit  of  crystalline  powder  and  dis- 
solved it  in  ether.  Then  he  added  some  strong 
sulphuric  acid.  The  liquid  turned  yellow,  then 
slowly  a  bright  scarlet.  Beside  the  first  he  repeated 
the  operation  with  another  similar-looking  powder, 
with  the  identical  result. 

"Both  of  those,"  he  remarked,  holding  up  the 
vials,  "were  samples  of  pure  veratrine,  but  obtained 
from  different  sources.  You  see  the  brilliant  reac- 
tion—  unmistakable.  But  it  makes  all  the  differ- 
ence in  the  world  in  this  case  what  was  the  source 
of  the  veratrine.  It  may  mean  the  guilt  or  innocence 
of  one  of  you." 

He  paused,  to  let  the  significance  of  his  remark 
sink  in.  "Veratrine,"  he  resumed,  "is  a  form  of 
hellebore,  known  to  gardeners  for  its  fatal  effect 
on  insects.  There  are  white  and  green  hellebore, 
Veratrum  alba  and  Veratrum  mride.  It  is  the  pure 
alkaloid,  or  rather  one  of  them,  that  we  have  to 
deal  with  here — veratrine. 

"There  are  various  sources  of  veratrine.  For 
instance,  there  is  the  veratrine  that  may  be  derived 
from  the  sabadilla  seeds  which  grow  in  the  West 
Indies  and  Mexico.  It  is  used,  I  am  informed,  by 
the  Germans  in  their  lachrymatory  and  asphyxiating 
bombs." 

The  mention  of  the  West  Indies  brought,  like  a 
flash,  to  my  mind  Sandoval  and  Senorita  de  Leon. 

183 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

"Then,  too,"  continued  Kennedy,  "there  is  a 
plant  out  in  our  own  Western  country,  of  which  you 
may  have  heard,  known  as  the  death  camas,  very 
fatal  to  cattle  when  they  eat  it.  The  active  prin- 
ciple in  this  is  also  veratrine." 

I  began  to  see  what  Kennedy  was  driving  at.  If 
it  were  veratrine  derived  from  death  camas  it  would 
point  toward  Page. 

"Abderhalden,  the  great  German  physiological 
chemist,  has  discovered  that  substances  that  once 
get  into  the  blood  produce  specific  ferments.  Not 
long  ago,  in  a  case,  I  showed  it  by  the  use  of  dialyz- 
ing  membranes.  But  Abderhalden  has  found  that 
the  polariscope  can  show  it  also.  And  in  this  case 
only  the  polariscope  can  show  what  chemistry 
cannot  show  when  we  reach  the  point  of  testing 
Sefior  Barrios's  blood — if  that  becomes  necessary." 

It  was  plain  that  Kennedy  was  confident.  "There 
are  other  sources  of  drugs  of  the  nature  used  in  this 
case  to  asphyxiate  and  kill,  but  the  active  principle 
of  all  is  veratrine.  The  point  is,  veratrine  from  what 
source?  The  sabadilla  is  dextro-rotary;  the  death 
camas  is  levo-rotary.  Which  is  it  here?" 

As  I  tried  to  figure  out  the  ramifications  of  the 
case,  I  could  see  that  it  was  a  cruel  situation  for  one 
or  the  other  of  the  girls.  Was  one  of  her  lovers  the 
murderer  of  Anitra's  brother?  Or  was  her  own 
brother  the  murderer  of  Eulalie's  lover?  I  looked 
at  the  faces  before  me,  now  tensely  watching  Ken- 
nedy, forgetful  of  the  wire-like  strings  which  they 
held  in  their  hands.  I  studied  Teresa  de  Leon 
intently  for  a  while.  She  was  still  the  enigma  which 
she  had  been  the  first  time  I  saw  her. 

184 


THE    LOVE    METER 

Kennedy  paused  long  enough  to  look  through  the 
eyepiece  again  as  if  to  reassure  himself  finally  that 
he  was  right.  There  was  a  tantalizing  suspense  as 
we  waited  for  the  verdict  of  science  on  this  intensely 
human  tragedy.  Then  he  turned  to  the  queer  in- 
strument over  which  the  needle-hand  was  moving. 

"Though  some  scientists  would  call  this  merely  a 
sensitive  form  of  galvanometer,"  he  remarked,  "it 
is,  to  me,  more  than  that.  It  registers  feelings, 
emotions.  It  has  been  registering  your  own  every 
moment  that  I  have  been  talking. 

"But  most  of  all  it  registers  the  grand  passion. 
I  might  even  call  it  a  love  meter.  Love  might  seem 
to  be  a  subject  which  could  not  be  investigated. 
But  even  love  can  be  attributed  to  electrical  forces, 
or,  perhaps  better,  is  expressed  by  the  generation  of 
an  electric  current,  as  though  the  attraction  between 
men  and  women  were  the  giving  off  of  electrons  or 
radiations  of  one  to  the  other.  I  have  seen  this  gal- 
vanometer stationary  during  the  ordinary  meeting 
of  men  and  women,  yet  exhibit  all  sorts  of  strange 
vibrations  when  true  lovers  meet." 

Not  used  to  Kennedy's  peculiar  methods,  they 
were  now  on  guard,  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  that 
alone  was  sufficient  to  corroborate  unescapably  any 
evidence  they  had  already  given  of  their  feelings 
toward  each  other. 

Kennedy  passed  lightly  over  the  torn  and  bleeding 
heart  of  Eulalie.  But,  much  as  he  disliked  to  do  so, 
he  could  not  so  quickly  pass  Anitra.  In  spite  of  her 
grief,  I  could  see  that  she  was  striving  to  control 
herself.  A  quick  blush  suffused  her  face  and  her 
breath  came  and  went  faster. 

185 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

"This  record,"  went  on  Kennedy,  lowering  his 
voice,  "tells  me  that  two  men  are  in  love  with 
Anitra  Barrios.  I  will  not  say  which  exhibits  the 
deeper,  truer  passion.  You  shall  see  for  yourself  in 
a  moment.  But,  more  than  that,  it  tells  me  which  of 
the  two  she  cares  for  most — a  secret  her  heart  would 
never  permit  her  lips  to  disclose.  Nor  will  I  disclose 
it. 

"One  of  them,  with  supreme  egotism,  was  so  sure 
that  he  would  win  her  heart  that  he  plotted  this 
murder  of  her  brother  so  that  she  would  have  the 
whole  estate  to  bring  to  him — a  terrible  price  for  a 
dowry.  My  love  meter  tells  me,  however,  that 
Anitra  has  something  to  say  about  it  yet.  She 
does  not  love  this  man. 

"As  for  Teresa  de  Leon,  it  was  jealousy  that  im- 
pelled her  to  follow  Jose  Barrios  from  Cuba  to  New 
York.  The  murderer,  in  his  scheming,  knew  it,  saw 
a  chance  to  use  her,  to  encourage  her,  perhaps  throw 
suspicion  on  her,  if  necessary.  When  I  came  un- 
comfortably close  to  him  he  even  sent  an  anonymous 
telegram  that  might  point  toward  her.  It  was  sent 
by  the  same  person  who  stole  in  Barrios's  office  and 
shot  him  with  an  asphyxiating  pistol  which  dis- 
charged a  fatal  quantity  of  pure  veratrine  full  at  him. 

"My  love  meter,  in  registering  hidden  emotions, 
supplements  what  the  polarimeter  tells  me.  It  was 
the  levo-rotary  veratrine  of  the  fatal  death  camas 
which  you  used,  Page,"  concluded  Craig,  as  again 
the  electric  attachment  clicked  shut  the  lock  on  the 
laboratory  door. 


VIII 

THE   VITAL   PRINCIPLE 

"'T'HAT'S  the  handwriting  of  a  woman — a  jeal- 
A   ous  woman,"  remarked  Kennedy,  handing  to 
me  a  dainty  note  on  plain  paper  which  had  come 
in  the  morning  mail. 

I  did  not  stop  to  study  the  writing,  for  the  con- 
tents of  the  letter  were  moref  ascinating  than  even 
Kennedy's  new  science  of  graphology. 

You  don't  know  me  [the  note  read],  but  I  know  of  your  work 
of  scientific  investigation. 

Let  me  inform  you  of  something  that  ought  to  interest  you. 

In  the  Forum  Apartments  you  will  find  that  there  is  some 
strange  disease  affecting  the  Wardlaw  family.  It  is  a  queer 
disease  of  the  nerves.  One  is  dead.  Others  are  dying. 

Look  into  it. 

A  FRIEND. 

As  I  read  it  I  asked  myself  vainly  what  it  could 
mean.  There  was  no  direct  accusation  against  any 
one,  yet  the  implication  was  plain.  A  woman  had 
been  moved  by  one  of  the  primal  passions  to  betray — 
some  one. 

I  looked  up  from  the  note  on  the  table  at  Craig. 
He  was  still  studying  the  handwriting. 

"It's  that  peculiar  vertical,  angular  hand  affected 
by  many  women,"  he  commented,  half  to  himself. 

187 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

"Even  at  a  glance  you  can  see  that  it's  written 
hastily,  as  if  under  the  stress  of  excitement  and 
sudden  resolution.  You'll  notice  how  those  capi- 
tals— "  The  laboratory  door  opened,  interrupting 
him. 

"Hello,  Kennedy,"  greeted  Doctor  Leslie,  our 
friend,  the  coroner's  physician,  who  had  recently 
been  appointed  Health  Commissioner  of  the  city. 

It  was  the  first  time  we  had  seen  him  since  the 
appointment  and  we  hastened  to  congratulate  him. 
He  thanked  us  absently,  and  it  was  evident  that 
there  was  something  on  his  mind,  some  problem 
which,  in  his  new  office,  he  felt  that  he  must  solve  if 
for  no  other  purpose  than  to  justify  his  reputation. 
Craig  said  nothing,  preferring  to  let  the  commissioner 
come  to  the  point  in  his  own  way. 

"Do  you  know,  Kennedy,"  he  said,  at  length, 
turning  in  his  chair  and  facing  us,  "I  believe  we  have 
found  one  of  the  strangest  cases  in  the  history  of  the 
department." 

The  commissioner  paused,  then  went  on,  quickly, 
"It  looks  as  if  it  were  nothing  less  than  an  epidemic 
of  beriberi — not  on  a  ship  coming  into  port  as  so 
often  happens,  but  actually  in  the  heart  of  the  city." 

"Beriberi  —  in  New  York?"  queried  Craig,  in- 
credulously. 

"It  looks  like  it,"  reiterated  Leslie,  "in  the  family 
of  a  Doctor  Wardlaw,  up-town  here,  in  the  Forum — " 

Kennedy  had  already  shoved  over  the  letter  he 
had  just  received.  Leslie  did  not  finish  the  sentence, 
but  read  the  note  in  amazement. 

"What  are  the  symptoms?"  inquired  Craig. 
"What  makes  you  think  it  is  beriberi,  of  all  things?" 

1 88 


THE   VITAL   PRINCIPLE 

"Because  they  show  the  symptoms  of  beriberi," 
persisted  Leslie,  doggedly.  "You  know  what  they 
are  like.  If  you  care  to  go  into  the  matter  I  think  I 
can  convince  you." 

The  commissioner  was  still  holding  the  letter  and 
gazing,  puzzled,  from  it  to  us.  It  seemed  as  if  he 
regarded  it  merely  as  confirming  his  own  suspicions 
that  something  was  wrong,  even  though  it  shed  no 
real  light  on  the  matter. 

' '  How  did  you  first  hear  of  it  ?"  prompted  Kennedy. 

Leslie  answered  frankly.  "It  came  to  the  atten- 
tion of  the  department  as  the  result  of  a  reform  I 
have  inaugurated.  When  I  went  in  office  I  found 
that  many  of  the  death  certificates  were  faulty,  and 
in  the  course  of  our  investigations  we  ran  across  one 
that  seemed  to  be  most  vaguely  worded.  I  don't 
know  yet  whether  it  was  ignorance — or  something 
worse.  But  it  started  an  inquiry.  I  can't  say  that 
I'm  thoroughly  satisfied  with  the  amended  certificate 
of  the  physician  who  attended  Mrs.  Marbury,  the 
mother  of  Doctor  Wardlaw's  wife,  who  died  about  a 
week  ago — Doctor  Aitken." 

"Then  Wardlaw  didn't  attend  her  himself?" 
asked  Kennedy. 

"Oh  no.    He  couldn't,  under  the  circumstances, 
as  I'll  show  you  presently,  aside  from  the  medical 
ethics  of  the  case.    Aitken  was  the  family  physician  , 
of  the  Marburys." 

Kennedy  glanced  at  the  note.  "One  is  dead. 
Others  are  dying,"  he  read.  "Who  are  the  others? 
Who  else  is  stricken?" 

"Why,"  continued  Leslie,  eager  to  unburden  his 
story,  "Wardlaw  himself  has  the  marks  of  a  nervous 

189 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

affection  as  plainly  as  the  eye  can  see  it.  You  know 
what  it  is  in  this  disease,  as  though  the  nerves  were 
wasting  away.  But  he  doesn't  seem  half  as  badly 
affected  as  his  wife.  They  tell  me  Maude  Marbury 
was  quite  a  beauty  once,  and  photographs  I  have 
seen  prove  it.  She's  a  wreck  now.  And,  of  course, 
the  old  lady  must  have  been  the  most  seriously 
affected  of  them  all." 

"Who  else  is  there  in  the  household?"  inquired 
Kennedy,  growing  more  and  more  interested. 

"Well,"  answered  Leslie,  slowly,  "they've  had  a 
nurse  for  some  time,  Natalie  Langdale.  Apparently 
she  has  escaped." 

"Any  servants?" 

"Some  by  the  day;  only  one  regularly — a  Japan- 
ese, Kato.  He  goes  home  at  night,  too.  There's  no 
evidence  of  the  disease  having  affected  him." 

I  caught  Leslie's  eye  as  he  gave  the  last  informa- 
tion. Though  I  did  not  know  much  about  beriberi, 
I  had  read  of  it,  and  knew  that  it  was  especially 
prevalent  in  the  Orient.  I  did  not  know  what  im- 
portance to  attach  to  Kato  and  his  going  home  at 
night. 

"Have  you  done  any  investigating  yourself?" 
asked  Kennedy. 

Leslie  hesitated  a  moment,  as  though  deprecating 
his  own  efforts  in  that  line,  though  when  he  spoke  I 
could  see  no  reason  why  he  should,  except  that  it  had 
so  often  happened  that  Kennedy  had  seen  the  ob- 
vious which  was  hidden  from  most  of  those  who 
consulted  him. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "I  thought  perhaps  there  might 
be  some  motive  back  of  it  all  which  I  might  discover. 

190 


THE   VITAL   PRINCIPLE 

Possibly  it  was  old  Mrs.  Marbury's  fortune— not  a 
large  one,  but  substantial.  So  it  occurred  to  me  that 
the  will  might  show  it.  I  have  been  to  the  surrogate. ' ' 

"And?"  prompted  Kennedy,  approvingly. 

"Mrs.  Marbury's  will  has  already  been  offered  for 
probate.  It  directs,  among  other  things,  that  twenty- 
five  thousand  dollars  be  given  by  her  daughter,  to 
whom  she  leaves  the  bulk  of  her  fortune,  to  Doctor 
Aitken,  who  had  been  Mr.  Marbury's  physician  arid 
her  own." 

Leslie  looked  at  us  significantly,  but  Kennedy 
made  no  comment. 

"Would  you  like  to  go  up  there  and  see  them?" 
urged  the  commissioner,  anxious  to  get  Craig's  final 
word  on  whether  he  would  co-operate  in  the  affair. 

"I  certainly  should,"  returned  Kennedy,  heartily, 
folding  up  the  letter  which  had  first  attracted  his 
interest.  "It  looks  as  if  there  were  more  to  this 
thing  than  a  mere  disease,  however  unusual." 

Doctor  Leslie  could  not  conceal  his  satisfaction, 
and  without  delaying  a  moment  more  than  was 
necessary  hurried  us  out  into  one  of  the  department 
cars,  which  he  had  left  waiting  outside,  and  directed 
the  driver  to  take  us  to  the  Forum  Apartments,  one 
of  the  newest  and  most  fashionable  on  the  Drive. 

Miss  Langdale  met  us  at  the  door  and  admitted 
us  into  the  apartment.  She  was  a  striking  type  of 
trained  nurse,  one  of  those  who  seem  bubbling  over 
with  health  and  vivacity.  She  seemed  solicitous  of 
her  patients  and  reluctant  to  have  them  disturbed, 
yet  apparently  not  daring  to  refuse  to  admit  Doctor 
Leslie.  There  was  nothing  in  her  solicitude,  how- 
ever, that  one  could  take  exception  to. 

191 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

Miss  Langdale  conducted  us  softly  down  a  hall- 
way through  the  middle  of  the  apartment,  and  I 
noted  quickly  how  it  was  laid  out.  On  one  side  we 
passed  a  handsomely  furnished  parlor  and  dining- 
room,  opposite  which  were  the  kitchen  and  butler's 
pantry,  and,  farther  along,  a  bedroom  and  the  bath. 
On  down  the  hall,  on  the  right,  was  Doctor  Ward- 
law's  study,  or  rather  den,  for  it  was  more  of  a  library 
than  an  office. 

The  nurse  led  the  way,  and  we  entered.  Through 
the  windows  one  caught  a  beautiful  vista  of  the 
Drive,  the  river,  and  the  Jersey  shore.  I  gazed  about 
curiously.  Around  the  room  there  were  bookcases 
and  cabinets,  a  desk,  some  easy-chairs,  and  in  the 
corner  a  table  on  which  were  some  of  Wardlaw's 
paraphernalia,  for,  although  he  was  not  a  practising 
physician,  he  still  specialized  in  his  favorite  branches 
of  eye  and  ear  surgery. 

Miss  Langdale  left  us  a  moment,  with  a  hasty 
excuse  that  she  must  prepare  Mrs.  Wardlaw  for  the 
unexpected  visit.  The  preparation,  however,  did 
not  take  long,  for  a  moment  later  Maude  Wardlaw 
entered,  supported  by  her  nurse. 

Her  lips  moved  mechanically  as  she  saw  us,  but 
we  could  not  hear  what  she  said.  As  she  walked,  I 
could  see  that  she  had  a  peculiar  gait,  as  though 
she  were  always  lifting  her  feet  over  small  obstacles. 
Her  eyes,  too,  as  she  looked  at  us,  had  a  strange 
squint,  and  now  and  then  the  muscles  of  her  face 
twitched.  She  glanced  from  Leslie  to  Kennedy 
inquiringly,  as  Leslie  introduced  us,  implying  that 
we  were  from  his  office,  then  dropped  into  the  easy- 
chair.  Her  breathing  seemed  to  be  labored  and  her 

192 


THE   VITAL    PRINCIPLE 

heart  action  feeble,  as  the  nurse  propped  her  up 
comfortably. 

As  Mrs.  Wardlaw's  hand  rested  on  the  arm  of  the 
chair  I  saw  that  there  was  a  peculiar  flexion  of  her 
wrist  which  reminded  me  of  the  so-called  "wrist- 
drop"  of  which  I  had  heard.  It  was  almost  as  if  the 
muscles  of  her  hands  and  arms,  feet  and  legs,  were 
weak  and  wasting.  Once  she  had  been  beautiful, 
and  even  now,  although  she  seemed  to  be  a  wreck  of 
her  former  self,  she  had  a  sort  of  ethereal  beauty  that 
was  very  touching. 

"Doctor  is  out — just  now,"  she  hesitated,  in  a 
tone  that  hinted  at  the  loss  of  her  voice.  She  turned 
appealingly  to  Miss  Langdale.  "Oh,"  she  mur- 
mured, "I  feel  so  badly  this  morning — as  if  pins 
and  needles  were  sticking  in  me — vague  pains  in  all 
my  limbs — " 

Her  voice  sank  to  a  whisper  and  only  her  lips 
moved  feebly.  One  had  only  to  see  her  to  feel  sym- 
pathy. It  seemed  almost  cruel  to  intrude  under  the 
circumstances,  yet  it  was  absolutely  necessary  if 
Craig  were  to  accomplish  anything.  Maude  Ward- 
law,  however,  did  not  seem  to  comprehend  the  sig- 
nificance of  our  presence,  and  I  wondered  how  Ken- 
nedy would  proceed. 

"I  should  like  to  see  your  Japanese  servant, 
Kato,"  he  began,  directly,  somewhat  to  my  surprise, 
addressing  himself  rather  to  Miss  Langdale  than  to 
Mrs.  Wardlaw. 

The  nurse  nodded  and  left  the  room  without  a 
word,  as  though  appreciating  the  anomalous  position 
in  which  she  was  placed  as  temporary  mistress  of  the 
household. 

193 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

A  few  moments  later  Kato  entered.  He  was  a 
typical  specimen  of  the  suave  Oriental,  and  I  eyed 
him  keenly,  for  to  me  East  was  East  and  West  was 
West,  and  I  was  frankly  suspicious,  especially  as  I 
saw  no  reason  to  be  otherwise  in  Kennedy's  manner. 
I  waited  eagerly  to  see  what  Craig  would  do. 

"Sit  here,"  directed  Kennedy,  indicating  a 
straight-backed  chair,  on  which  the  Japanese  obe- 
diently sat.  "Now  cross  your  knees." 

As  Kato  complied,  Kennedy  quickly  brought  his 
hand,  held  flat  and  palm  upward,  sharply  against 
the  Jap's  knee  just  below  the  kneecap.  There  was 
a  quick  reflex  jerk  of  the  leg  below  the  knee  in 
response. 

"Quite  natural,"  Kennedy  whispered,  turning  to 
Leslie,  who  nodded. 

He  dismissed  Kato  without  further  questioning, 
having  had  an  opportunity  to  observe  whether  he 
showed  any  of  the  symptoms  that  had  appeared  in 
the  rest  of  the  family.  Craig  and  the  Health  Com- 
missioner exchanged  a  few  words  under  their  breath, 
then  Craig  crossed  the  room  to  Mrs.  Wardlaw.  The 
entrance  of  Kato  had  roused  her  momentarily  and 
she  had  been  watching  what  was  going  on. 

"It  is  a  simple  test,"  explained  Kennedy,  indicat- 
ing to  Miss  Langdale  that  he  wished  to  repeat  it  on 
her  patient. 

Mrs.  Wardlaw's  knee  showed  no  reflex!  As  he 
turned  to  us,  we  could  see  that  Kennedy's  face  was 
lined  deeply  with  thought,  and  he  paced  up  and  down 
the  room  once  or  twice,  considering  what  he  had 
observed. 

I  could  see  that  even  this  simple  interview  had 
194 


THE   VITAL    PRINCIPLE 

greatly  fatigued  Mrs.  Wardlaw.  Miss  Langdale 
said  nothing,  but  it  was  plainly  evident  that  she 
objected  strongly  to  the  strain  on  her  patient's 
strength. 

"That  will  be  sufficient,"  nodded  Craig,  noticing 
the  nurse.  ' '  Thank  you  very  much.  I  think  you  had 
better  let  Mrs.  Wardlaw  rest  in  her  own  room." 

On  the  nurse's  arm  Mrs.  Wardlaw  withdrew  and 
I  looked  inquiringly  from  Kennedy  to  Doctor  Leslie. 
What  was  it  that  had  made  this  beautiful  woman 
such  a  wreck?  It  seemed  almost  as  though  the  hand 
of  fate  had  stretched  out  against  one  who  had  all  to 
make  her  happy — wealth,  youth,  a  beautiful  home — 
for  the  sullen  purpose  of  taking  away  what  had  been 
bestowed  so  bounteously. 

"It  is  polyneuritis,  all  right,  Leslie,"  Craig  agreed, 
the  moment  we  were  alone. 

"I  think  so,"  coincided  Leslie,  with  a  nod.  "It's 
the  cause  I  can't  get  at.  Is  it  polyneuritis  of  beri- 
beri— or  something  else?"  Kennedy  did  not  reply 
immediately. 

"Then  there  are  other  causes?"  I  inquired  of 
Leslie. 

"Alcohol,"  he  returned,  briefly.  "I  don't  think 
that  figures  in  this  instance.  At  least  I've  seen  no 
evidence." 

"Perhaps  some  drug?"  I  hazarded  at  a  venture. 

Leslie  shrugged. 

"How  about  the  food?"  inquired  Craig.  "Have 
you  made  any  attempt  to  examine  it?" 

"I  have,"  replied  the  commissioner.  "When  I 
came  up  here  first  I  thought  of  that.  I  took  samples 
of  all  the  food  that  I  could  find  in  the  ice-box,  the 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

kitchen,  and  the  butler's  pantry.  I  have  the  whole 
thing,  labeled,  and  I  have  already  started  to  test 
them  out.  I'll  show  you  what  I  have  done  when  we 
go  down  to  the  department  laboratory." 

Kennedy  had  been  examining  the  books  in  the 
bookcase  and  now  pulled  out  a  medical  dictionary. 
It  opened  readily  to  the  heading,  "Polyneuritis — 
multiple  neuritis." 

I  bent  over  and  read  with  him.  In  the  disease,  it 
seemed,  the  nerve  fibers  themselves  in  the  small 
nerves  broke  down  and  the  affection  was  motor, 
sensory,  vasomotor,  or  endemic.  All  the  symptoms 
described  seemed  to  fit  what  I  had  observed  in  Mrs. 
Wardlaw. 

"Invariably,"  the  article  went  on,  "it  is  the  result 
of  some  toxic  substance  circulating  in  the  blood. 
There  is  a  polyneuritis  psychosis,  known  as  Korsa- 
koff's  syndrome,  characterized  by  disturbances  of 
the  memory  of  recent  events  and  false  reminiscences, 
the  patient  being  restless  and  disorientated." 

I  ran  my  finger  down  the  page  until  I  came  to  the 
causes.  There  were  alcohol,  lead,  arsenic,  bisul- 
phide of  carbon,  diseases  such  as  diabetes,  diphtheria, 
typhoid,  and  finally,  much  to  my  excitement,  was 
enumerated  beriberi,  with  the  added  information, 
"or,  as  the  Japanese  call  it,  kakke." 

I  placed  my  finger  on  the  passage  and  was  about 
to  say  something  about  my  suspicions  of  Kato  when 
we  heard  the  sound  of  footsteps  in  the  hall,  and  Craig 
snapped  the  book  shut,  returning  it  hastily  to  the 
bookcase.  It  was  Miss  Langdale  who  had  made  her 
patient  comfortable  in  bed  and  now  returned  to  us. 

"Who  is  this  Kato?"  inquired  Craig,  voicing  what 
196 


THE   VITAL    PRINCIPLE 

was  in  my  own  mind.     "What  do  you  know  about 
him?" 

"Just  a  young  Japanese  from  the  Mission  down- 
town," replied  the  nurse,  directly.  "I  don't  suppose 
you  know,  but  Mrs.  Wardlaw  used  to  be  greatly 
interested  in  religious  and  social  work  among  the 
Japanese  and  Chinese;  would  be  yet,  but,"  she  added, 
significantly,  "she  is  not  strong  enough.  They 
employed  him  before  I  came  here,  about  a  year  ago, 
I  think." 

Kennedy  nodded,  and  was  about  to  ask  another 
question,  when  there  was  a  slight  noise  out  in  the 
hall.  Thinking  it  might  be  Kato  himself,  I  sprang 
to  the  door. 

Instead,  I  encountered  a  middle-aged  man,  who 
drew  back  in  surprise  at  seeing  me,  a  stranger. 

"Oh,  good  morning,  Doctor  Aitken!"  greeted 
Miss  Langdale,  in  quite  the  casual  manner  of  a 
nurse  accustomed  to  the  daily  visit  at  about  this 
hour. 

As  for  Doctor  Aitken,  he  glanced  from  Leslie, 
whom  he  knew,  to  Kennedy,  whom  he  did  not  know, 
with  a  very  surprised  look  on  his  face.  In  fact,  I 
got  the  impression  that  after  he  had  been  admitted 
he  had  paused  a  moment  in  the  hall  to  listen  to  the 
strange  voices  in  the  Wardlaw  study. 

Leslie  nodded  to  him  and  introduced  us,  without 
quite  knowing  what  to  say  or  do,  any  more  than 
Doctor  Aitken. 

"A  most  incomprehensible  case,"  ventured  Aitken 
to  us.  "I  can't,  for  the  life  of  me,  make  it  out. ' '  The 
doctor  showed  his  perplexity  plainly,  whether  it  was 
feigned  or  not. 

14  197 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

"I'm  afraid  she's  not  quite  so  well  as  usual,"  put 
in  Miss  Langdale,  speaking  to  him,  but  in  a  manner 
that  indicated  that  first  of  all  she  wished  any  blame 
for  her  patient's  condition  to  attach  to  us  and  not 
to  herself. 

Doctor  Aitken  pursed  up  his  lips,  bowed  excus- 
ingly  to  us,  and  turned  down  the  hall,  followed  by 
the  nurse.  As  they  passed  on  to  Mrs.  Wardlaw's 
room,  I  am  sure  they  whispered  about  us.  I  was 
puzzled  by  Doctor  Aitken.  He  seemed  to  be  sincere, 
yet,  under  the  circumstances,  I  felt  that  I  must  be 
suspicious  of  everybody  and  everything. 

Alone  again  for  a  moment,  Kennedy  turned  his 
attention  to  the  furniture  of  the  room,  and  finally 
paused  before  a  writing-desk  in  the  corner.  He 
tried  it.  It  was  not  locked  and  he  opened  it.  Quick- 
ly he  ran  through  a  pile  of  papers  carefully  laid 
under  a  paper-weight  at  the  back. 

A  suppressed  exclamation  from  him  called  my 
attention  to  something  that  he  had  discovered. 
There  lay  two  documents,  evidently  recently  drawn 
up.  As  we  looked  over  the  first,  we  saw  that  it  was 
Doctor  Wardlaw's  will,  in  which  he  had  left  every- 
thing to  his  wife,  although  he  was  not  an  especially 
wealthy  man.  The  other  was  the  will  of  Mrs. 
Wardlaw. 

We  devoured  it  hastily.  In  substance  it  was 
identical  with  the  first,  except  that  at  the  end  she 
had  added  two  clauses.  In  the  first  she  had  done 
just  as  her  mother  had  directed.  Twenty-five 
thousand  dollars  had  been  left  to  Doctor  Aitken.  I 
glanced  at  Kennedy,  but  he  was  reading  on,  taking 
the  second  clause.  I  read  also.  Fifty  thousand 

198 


THE    VITAL    PRINCIPLE 

dollars  was  given  to  endow  the  New  York  Japanese 
Mission. 

Immediately  the  thought  of  Kato  and  what  Miss 
Langdale  had  just  told  us  flashed  through  my  mind. 

A  second  time  we  heard  the  nurse's  footsteps  on 
the  hardwood  floor  of  the  hall.  Craig  closed  the 
desk  softly. 

"Doctor  Aitken  is  ready  to  go,"  she  announced. 
"Is  there  anything  more  you  wish  to  ask?" 

Kennedy  spoke  a  moment  with  the  doctor  as  he 
passed  out,  but,  aside  from  the  information  that 
Mrs.  Wardlaw  was,  in  his  opinion,  growing  worse, 
the  conversation  added  nothing  to  our  meager  store 
of  information. 

"I  suppose  you  attended  Mrs.  Marbury?"  vent- 
ured Kennedy  of  Miss  Langdale,  after  the  doctor 
had  gone. 

"Not  all  the  time,"  she  admitted.  "Before  I 
came  there  was  another  nurse,  a  Miss  Hackstaff." 

"What  was  the  matter?    Wasn't  she  competent?" 

Miss  Langdale  avoided  the  question,  as  though  it 
were  a  breach  of  professional  etiquette  to  cast  reflec- 
tions on  another  nurse,  although  whether  that  was 
the  real  reason  for  her  reticence  did  not  appear. 
Craig  seemed  to  make  a  mental  note  of  the  fact. 

"Have  you  seen  anything — er — suspicious  about 
this  Kato?"  put  in  Leslie,  while  Kennedy  frowned 
at  the  interruption. 

Miss  Langdale  answered  quickly,  "Nothing." 

"Doctor  Aitken  has  never  expressed  any  sus- 
picion?" pursued  Leslie. 

"Oh  no,"  she  returned.  "I  think  I  would  have 
known  it  if  he  had  any.  No,  I've  never  heard  him 

199 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

even  hint  at  anything."  It  was  evident  that  she 
wished  us  to  know  that  she  was  in  the  confidence  of 
the  doctor. 

"I  think  we'd  better  be  going,"  interrupted 
Kennedy,  hastily,  not  apparently  pleased  to  have 
Leslie  break  in  in  the  investigation  just  at  present. 

Miss  Langdale  accompanied  us  to  the  door,  but 
before  we  reached  it  it  was  opened  from  the  outside 
by  a  man  who  had  once  been  and  yet  was  handsome, 
although  one  could  see  that  he  had  a  certain  appear- 
ance of  having  neglected  himself. 

Leslie  nodded  and  introduced  us.  It  was  Doctor 
Wardlaw. 

As  I  studied  his  face  I  could  see  that,  as  Leslie 
had  already  told  us,  it  plainly  bore  the  stigma  of 
nervousness. 

"Has  Doctor  Aitken  been  here?"  he  inquired, 
quickly,  of  the  nurse.  Then,  scarcely  waiting  for 
her  even  to  nod,  he  added:  "What  did  he  say?  Is 
Mrs.  Wardlaw  any  better?" 

Miss  Langdale  seemed  to  be  endeavoring  to  make 
as  optimistic  a  report  as  the  truth  permitted,  but  I 
fancied  Wardlaw  read  between  the  lines.  As  they 
talked  it  was  evident  that  there  was  a  sort  of  re- 
straint between  them.  I  wondered  whether  Ward- 
law  might  not  have  some  lurking  suspicion  against 
Aitken,  or  some  one  else.  If  he  had,  even  in  his 
nervousness  he  did  not  betray  it. 

' '  I  can't  tell  you  how  worried  I  am,"  he  murmured, 
almost  to  himself.  "What  can  this  thing  be?" 

He  turned  to  us,  and,  although  he  had  just  been 
introduced,  I  am  sure  that  our  presence  seemed  to 
surprise  him,  for  he  went  on  talking  to  himself, 

200 


THE   VITAL    PRINCIPLE 

"Oh  yes — let  me  see — oh  yes,  friends  of  Doctor — 
er — Leslie." 

I  had  been  studying  him  and  trying  to  recall  what 
I  had  just  read  of  beriberi  and  polyneuritis.  There 
flashed  over  my  mind  the  recollection  of  what  had 
been  called  Korsakoff's  syndrome,  in  which  one  of 
the  mental  disturbances  was  the  memory  of  recent 
events.  Did  not  this,  I  asked  myself,  indicate 
plainly  enough  that  Leslie  might  be  right  in  his 
suspicions  of  beriberi  ?  It  was  all  the  more  apparent 
a  moment  later  when,  turning  to  Miss  Langdale, 
Wardlaw  seemed  almost  instantly  to  forget  our 
presence  again.  At  any  rate,  his  anxiety  was  easy 
to  see. 

After  a  few  minutes'  chat  during  which  Craig 
observed  Wardlaw's  symptoms,  too,  we  excused 
ourselves,  and  the  Health  Commissioner  undertook 
to  conduct  us  to  his  office  to  show  us  what  he  had 
done  so  far.  As  for  me,  I  could  not  get  Miss  Lang- 
dale  out  of  my  mind,  and  especially  the  mysterious 
letter  to  Kennedy.  What  of  it  and  what  of  its 
secret  sender? 

None  of  us  said  much  until,  half  an  hour  later, 
in  the  department  laboratory,  Leslie  began  to  recapit- 
ulate what  he  had  already  done  in  the  case. 

"You  asked  whether  I  had  examined  the  food," 
he  remarked,  pausing  in  a  corner  before  several  cages 
in  which  were  a  number  of  pigeons,  separated  and 
carefully  tagged.  With  a  wave  of  his  hand  at  one 
group  of  cages  he  continued:  "These  fellows  I  have 
been  feeding  exclusively  on  samples  of  the  various 
foods  which  I  took  from  the  Wardlaw  family  when 
I  first  went  up  there.  Here,  too,  are  charts  showing 

207 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

what  I  have  observed  up  to  date.  Over  there  are 
the  'controls' — pigeons  from  the  same  group  which 
have  been  fed  regularly  on  the  usual  diet  so  that  I 
can  check  my  tests." 

Kennedy  fell  to  examining  the  pigeons  carefully 
as  well  as  the  charts  and  records  of  feeding  and 
results.  None  of  the  birds  fed  on  what  had  been 
taken  from  the  apartment  looked  well,  though  some 
were  worse  than  others. 

"I  want  you  to  observe  this  fellow,"  pointed  out 
Leslie  at  last,  singling  out  one  cage.  The  pigeon  in 
it  was  a  pathetic  figure.  His  eyes  seemed  dull  and 
glazed.  He  paid  little  or  no  attention  to  us;  even 
his  food  and  water  did  not  seem  to  interest  him. 
Instead  of  strutting  about,  he  seemed  to  be  posi- 
tively wabbly  on  his  feet.  Kennedy  examined  this 
one  longer  and  more  carefully  than  any  of  the  rest. 

"There  are  certainly  all  the  symptoms  of  beri- 
beri, or  rather,  polyneuritis,  in  pigeons,  with  that 
bird,"  admitted  Craig,  finally,  looking  up  at  Leslie. 

The  commissioner  seemed  to  be  gratified.  "You 
know,"  he  remarked,  "beriberi  itself  is  a  common 
disease  in  the  Orient.  There  has  been  a  good  deal 
of  study  of  it  and  the  cause  is  now  known  to  be  the 
lack  of  something  in  the  food,  which  in  the  Orient 
is  mostly  rice.  Polishing  the  rice,  which  removes 
part  of  the  outer  coat,  also  takes  away  something 
that  is  necessary  for  life,  which  scientists  now  call 
'vitamines.'  ' 

"I  may  take  some  of  these  samples  to  study  my- 
self?" interrupted  Kennedy,  as  though  the  story  of 
vitamines  was  an  old  one  to  him. 

"By  all  means,"  agreed  Leslie. 

202 


THE   VITAL    PRINCIPLE 

Craig  selected  what  he  wanted,  keeping  each 
separate  and  marked,  and  excused  himself,  saying 
that  he  had  some  investigations  of  his  own  that  he 
wished  to  make  and  would  let  Leslie  know  the  result 
as  soon  as  he  discovered  anything. 

Kennedy  did  not  go  back  directly  to  the  labora- 
tory, however.  Instead,  he  went  up-town  and,  to 
my  surprise,  stopped  at  one  of  the  large  breweries. 
"What  it  was  that  he  was  after  I  could  not  imagine, 
but,  after  a  conference  with  the  manager,  he  obtained 
several  quarts  of  brewer's  yeast,  which  he  had  sent 
directly  down  to  the  laboratory. 

Impatient  though  I  was  at  this  seeming  neglect 
of  the  principal  figures  in  the  case,  I  knew,  never- 
theless, that  Kennedy  had  already  schemed  out  his 
campaign  and  that  whatever  it  was  he  had  in  mind 
was  of  first  importance. 

Back  at  last  in  his  own  laboratory,  Craig  set  to 
work  on  the  brewer's  yeast,  deriving  something  from 
it  by  the  plentiful  use  of  a  liquid  labeled  "Lloyd's 
reagent,"  a  solution  of  hydrous  aluminum  silicate. 

After  working  for  some  time,  I  saw  that  he  had 
obtained  a  solid  which  he  pressed  into  the  form 
of  little  whitish  tablets.  He  had  by  no  means 
finished,  but,  noticing  my  impatience,  he  placed 
the  three  or  four  tablets  in  a  little  box  and  handed 
them  to  me. 

"You  might  take  these  over  to  Leslie  in  the  de- 
partment laboratory,  Walter,"  he  directed.  "Tell 
him  to  feed  them  to  that  wabbly-looking  pigeon  over 
there — and  let  me  know  the  moment  he  observes 
any  effect." 

Glad  of  the  chance  to  occupy  myself,  I  hastened 
203 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

on  the  errand,  and  even  presided  over  the  first  feed- 
ing of  the  bird. 

When  I  returned  I  found  that  Kennedy  had 
finished  his  work  with  the  brewer's  yeast  and  was 
now  devoting  himself  to  the  study  of  the  various 
samples  of  food  which  he  had  obtained  from  Leslie. 

He  was  just  finishing  a  test  of  the  baking-powder 
when  I  entered,  and  his  face  showed  plainly  that  he 
was  puzzled  by  something  that  he  had  discovered. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked.  "Have  you  found  out 
anything?" 

' ' This  seems  to  be  almost  plain  sodium  carbonate," 
he  replied,  mechanically. 

"And  that  indicates?"  I  prompted. 

"Perhaps  nothing,  in  itself,"  he  went  on,  less 
abstractedly.  "But  the  use  of  sodium  carbonate 
and  other  things  which  I  have  discovered  in  other 
samples  disengages  carbon  dioxide  at  the  tempera- 
ture of  baking  and  cooking.  If  you'll  look  in  that 
public-health  report  on  my  desk  you'll  see  how  the 
latest  investigations  have  shown  that  bicarbonate 
of  soda  and  a  whole  list  of  other  things  which  liberate 
carbon  dioxide  destroy  the  vitamines  Leslie  was 
talking  about.  In  other  words,  taken  altogether 
I  should  almost  say  there  was  evidence  that  a  con- 
certed effort  was  being  made  to  affect  the  food — a 
result  analogous  to  that  of  using  polished  rice  as  a 
staple  diet  —  and  producing  beriberi,  or,  perhaps 
more  accurately,  polyneuritis.  I  can  be  sure  of 
nothing  yet,  but — it's  worth  following  up." 

"Then  you  think  Kato— " 

"Not  too  fast,"  cautioned  Craig.  "Remember, 
others  had  access  to  the  kitchen,  too." 

204 


THE   VITAL   PRINCIPLE 

In  spite  of  his  hesitancy,  I  could  think  only  of  the 
two  paragraphs  we  had  read  in  Mrs.  Wardlaw's  will, 
and  especially  of  the  last.  Might  not  Kato  have 
been  forced  or  enticed  into  a  scheme  that  promised 
a  safe  return  and  practically  no  chance  of  discovery? 
What  gruesome  mystery  had  been  unveiled  by  the 
anonymous  letter  which  had  first  excited  our 
curiosity? 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  that  Commissioner 
Leslie  called  us  up,  much  excited,  to  inform  us  that 
the  drooping  pigeon  was  already  pecking  at  food 
and  beginning  to  show  some  interest  in  life.  Ken- 
nedy seemed  greatly  gratified  as  he  hung  up  the 
receiver. 

"Almost  dinner-time,"  he  commented,  with  a 
glance  at  his  watch.  "I  think  we'll  make  another 
hurried  visit  to  the  Wardlaw  apartment." 

We  had  no  trouble  getting  in,  although  as  out- 
siders we  were  more  tolerated  than  welcome.  Our 
excuse  was  that  Kennedy  had  some  more  questions 
which  we  wished  to  ask  Miss  Langdale. 

While  we  waited  for  her  we  sat,  not  in  the  study, 
but  in  the  parlor.  The  folding-doors  into  the  dining- 
room  were  closed,  but  across  the  hall  we  could  tell 
by  the  sound  when  Kato  was  in  the  kitchen  and  when 
he  crossed  the  hall. 

Once  I  heard  him  in  the  dining-room.  Before  I 
knew  it  Kennedy  had  hastily  tiptoed  across  the 
hall  and  into  the  kitchen.  He  was  gone  only  a  couple 
of  minutes,  but  it  was  long  enough  to  place  in  the 
food  that  was  being  prepared,  and  in  some  unpre- 
pared, either  the  tablets  he  had  made  or  a  powder 
he  had  derived  from  them  crushed  up.  When  he 

205 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

returned  I  saw  from  his  manner  that  the  real  pur- 
pose of  the  visit  had  been  accomplished,  although 
when  Miss  Langdale  appeared  he  went  through  the 
form  of  questioning  her,  mostly  on  Mrs.  Marbury's 
sickness  and  death.  He  did  not  learn  anything  that 
appeared  to  be  important,  but  at  least  he  covered 
up  the  reason  for  his  visit. 

Outside  the  apartment,  Kennedy  paused  a  mo- 
ment. "There's  nothing  to  do  now  but  await  de- 
velopments," he  meditated.  "Meanwhile,  there 
is  no  use  for  us  to  double  up  our  time  together.  I 
have  decided  to  watch  Kato  to-night.  Suppose  you 
shadow  Doctor  Aitken.  Perhaps  we  may  get  a  line 
on  something  that  way." 

The  plan  seemed  admirable  to  me.  In  fact,  I  had 
been  longing  for  some  action  of  the  sort  all  the  af- 
ternoon, while  Kennedy  had  been  engaged  in  the 
studies  which  he  evidently  deemed  more  important. 

Accordingly,  after  dinner,  we  separated,  Kennedy 
going  back  to  the  Forum  Apartments  to  wait  until 
Kato  left  for  the  night,  while  I  walked  farther  up 
the  Drive  to  the  address  given  in  the  directory  as 
that  of  Doctor  Aitken. 

It  happened  to  be  the  time  when  the  doctor  had 
his  office  hours  for  patients,  so  that  I  was  sure  at 
least  that  he  was  at  home  when  I  took  my  station 
just  down  the  street,  carefully  scrutinizing  every  one 
who  entered  and  left  his  house. 

Nothing  happened,  however,  until  the  end  of  the 
hour  during  which  he  received  office  calls.  As  I 
glanced  down  the  street  I  was  glad  that  I  had  taken 
an  inconspicuous  post,  for  I  could  see  Miss  Langdale 
approaching.  She  was  not  in  her  nurse's  uniform, 

206 


THE   VITAL    PRINCIPLE 

but  seemed  to  be  off  duty  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  I 
must  confess  she  was  a  striking  figure,  even  in  that 
neighborhood  which  was  noted  for  its  pretty  and 
daintily  gowned  girls.  Almost  before  I  knew  it 
she  had  entered  the  English-basement  entrance  of 
Doctor  Aitken's. 

I  thought  rapidly.  What  could  be  the  purpose  of 
her  visit  ?  Above  all,  how  was  I,  on  the  outside,  to 
find  out  ?  I  walked  down  past  the  house.  But  that 
did  no  good.  In  a  quandary,  I  stopped.  Hesitation 
would  get  me  nothing.  Suddenly  an  idea  flashed 
through  my  mind.  I  turned  in  and  rang  the  bell. 

"It's  past  the  doctor's  office  hours,"  informed  a 
servant  who  opened  the  door.  "He  sees  no  one  after 
hours." 

"But,"  I  lied,  "I  have  an  appointment.  Don't 
disturb  him.  I  can  wait." 

The  waiting-room  was  empty,  I  had  seen,  and  I 
was  determined  to  get  in  at  any  cost.  Reluctantly 
the  servant  admitted  me. 

For  several  moments  I  sat  quietly  alone,  fearful 
that  the  doctor  might  open  the  double  doors  of  his 
office  and  discover  me.  But  nothing  happened  and 
I  grew  bolder.  Carefully  I  tiptoed  to  the  door.  It 
was  of  solid  oak  and  practically  impervious  to  sound. 
The  doors  fitted  closely,  too.  Still,  by  applying  my 
ear,  I  could  make  out  the  sound  of  voices  on  the 
other  side.  I  strained  my  ears  both  to  catch  a  word 
now  and  then  and  to  be  sure  that  I  might  hear  the 
approach  of  anybody  outside. 

Was  Aitken  suspiciously  interested  in  the  pretty 
nurse — or  was  she  suspiciously  interested  in  him? 

Suddenly  their  voices  became  a  trifle  more  dis- 
207 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

tinct.  "Then  you  think  Doctor  Wardlaw  has  it, 
too?"  I  heard  her  ask.  I  did  not  catch  the  exact 
reply,  but  it  was  in  the  affirmative. 

They  were  approaching  the  door.  In  a  moment  it 
would  be  opened.  I  waited  to  hear  no  more,  but 
seized  my  hat  and  dashed  for  the  entrance  from  the 
street  just  in  time  to  escape  observation.  Miss 
Langdale  came  out  shortly,  the  doctor  accompany- 
ing her  to  the  door,  and  I  followed  her  back  to  the 
Forum. 

What  I  had  heard  only  added  to  the  puzzle.  Why 
her  anxiety  to  know  whether  Wardlaw  himself  was 
affected?  Why  Aitken's  solicitude  in  asserting  that 
he  was?  Were  they  working  together,  or  were 
they  really  opposed?  Which  might  be  using  the 
other? 

My  queries  still  unanswered,  I  returned  to  Aitken's 
and  waited  about  some  time,  but  nothing  happened, 
and  finally  I  went  on  to  our  own  apartment. 

It  was  very  late  when  Craig  came  in,  but  I  was 
still  awake  and  waiting  for  him.  Before  I  could  ask 
him  a  question  he  was  drawing  from  me  what  I  had 
observed,  listening  attentively.  Evidently  he  con- 
sidered it  of  great  importance,  though  no  remark  of 
his  betrayed  what  interpretation  he  put  on  the 
episode. 

"Have  you  found  anything?"  I  managed  to  ask, 
finally. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  he  nodded,  thoughtfully.  "I 
shadowed  Kato  from  the  Forum.  It  must  have  been 
before  Miss  Langdale  came  out  that  he  left.  He 
lives  down-town  in  a  tenement-house.  There's 
something  queer  about  that  Jap." 

208 


THE   VITAL    PRINCIPLE 

"I  think  there  is,"  I  agreed.  "I  don't  like  his 
looks." 

"But  it  wasn't  he  who  interested  me  so  much  to- 
night," Craig  went  on,  ignoring  my  remark,  "as  a 
woman." 

"A  woman?"  I  queried,  in  surprise.  "A  Jap, 
too?" 

"No,  a  white  woman,  rather  good-looking,  too, 
with  dark  hair  and  eyes.  She  seemed  to  be  waiting 
for  him.  Afterward  I  made  inquiries.  She  has  been 
seen  about  there  before." 

"Who  was  she?"  I  asked,  fancying  perhaps  Miss 
Langdale  had  made  another  visit  while  she  was  out, 
although  from  the  time  it  did  not  seem  possible. 

"I  followed  her  to  her  house.  Her  name  is 
Hackstaff— " 

"The  first  trained  nurse!"  I  exclaimed. 

"Miss  Hackstaff  is  an  enigma,"  confessed  Ken- 
nedy. "At  first  I  thought  that  perhaps  she  might 
be  one  of  those  women  whom  the  Oriental  type 
fascinated,  that  she  and  Kato  might  be  plotting. 
Then  I  have  considered  that  perhaps  her  visits  to 
Kato  may  be  merely  to  get  information — that  she 
may  have  an  ax  to  grind.  Both  Kato  and  she  will 
bear  watching,  and  I  have  made  arrangements  to 
have  it  done.  I've  called  on  that  young  detective, 
Chase,  whom  I've  often  used  for  the  routine  work 
of  shadowing.  There's  nothing  more  that  we  can 
do  now  until  to-morrow,  so  we  might  as  well  turn  in." 

Early  the  next  day  Kennedy  was  again  at  work, 
both  in  his  own  laboratory  and  in  that  of  the  Health 
Department,  making  further  studies  of  the  food  and 
the  effect  it  had  on  the  pigeons,  as  well  as  observing 

209 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

what  changes  were  produced  by  the  white  tablets  he 
had  extracted  from  the  yeast. 

It  was  early  in  the  forenoon  when  the  buzzer  on 
the  laboratory  door  sounded  and  I  opened  the  door 
to  admit  Chase  in  a  high  state  of  excitement. 

"What  has  happened?"  asked  Craig,  eagerly. 

"Many  things,"  reported  the  young  detective, 
breathlessly.  "To  begin  with,  I  followed  Miss 
Hackstaff  from  her  apartment  this  morning.  She 
seemed  to  be  worked  up  over  something — perhaps 
had  had  a  sleepless  night.  As  nearly  as  I  could  make 
out  she  was  going  about  aimlessly.  Finally,  however, 
I  found  that  she  was  getting  into  the  neighborhood 
of  Doctor  Aitken  and  of  the  Forum.  Well,  when  we 
got  to  the  Forum  she  stopped  and  waited  in  front  of 
it — oh,  I  should  say  almost  half  an  hour.  I  couldn't 
make  out  what  it  was  she  wanted,  but  at  last  I 
found  out." 

He  paused  a  moment,  then  raced  on,  without 
urging.  ' '  Miss  Langdale  came  out — and  you  should 
have  seen  the  Hackstaff  woman  go  for  her."  He 
drew  in  his  breath  sharply  at  the  reminiscence.  "I 
thought  there  was  going  to  be  a  murder  done — on 
Riverside  Drive.  Miss  Langdale  screamed  and 
ran  back  into  the  apartment.  There  was  a  good  deal 
of  confusion.  The  hall-boys  came  to  the  rescue.  In 
the  excitement,  I  managed  to  slip  into  the  elevator 
with  her.  No  one  seemed  to  think  it  strange  then 
that  an  outsider  should  be  interested.  I  went  up 
with  her — saw  Wardlaw,  as  she  poured  out  the 
story.  He's  a  queer  one.  Is  he  right?" 

"Why?"  asked  Craig,  indulgently. 

"He   seems   so   nervous;     things   upset   him   so 

2IO 


THE   VITAL    PRINCIPLE 

easily.  Yet,  after  we  had  taken  care  of  Miss  Lang- 
dale  and  matters  had  quieted  down,  I  thought  I 
might  get  some  idea  of  the  cause  of  the  fracas  and 
asked  him  if  he  knew  of  any  reason.  Why,  he  looked 
at  me  kind  of  blankly,  and  I  swear  he  acted  as 
though  he  had  almost  forgotten  it  already.  I  tell 
you,  he's  not  right.'1 

Remembering  our  own  experience,  I  glanced  sig- 
nificantly at  Craig.  "Korsakoff's  syndrome?"  I 
queried,  laconically.  "Another  example  of  a  mind 
confused  even  on  recent  events?" 

Kennedy,  however,  was  more  interested  in  Chase. 
"What  did  Miss  Hackstaff  do?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know.  I  missed  her.  When  I  got  out 
again  she  was  gone." 

"Pick  her  up  again,"  directed  Craig.  "Perhaps 
you'll  get  her  at  her  place.  And  see,  this  time,  if 
you  can  get  what  I  asked  you." 

"I'll  try,"  returned  Chase,  much  pleased  at  the 
words  of  commendation  which  Craig  added  as  he 
left  us  again. 

On  what  errand  Chase  had  gone  I  could  not  guess, 
except  that  it  had  something  to  do  with  this  strange 
woman  who  had  so  unexpectedly  entered  the  case. 
Nor  was  Craig  any  more  communicative.  There 
were  evidently  many  problems  which  only  events 
could  clear  up  even  in  his  mind.  Though  he  did  not 
say  anything,  I  knew  that  he  was  as  impatient  as  I 
was,  and  as  Leslie,  too,  who  called  up  once  or  twice 
to  learn  whether  he  had  discovered  anything.  There 
was  nothing  to  do  but  wait. 

It  was  early  in  the  afternoon  that  the  telephone 
rang  and  I  answered  it.  It  was  Chase  calling  Ken- 
an 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

nedy.  I  heard  only  half  the  conversation  and  there 
was  not  much  of  that,  but  I  knew  that  something 
was  about  to  happen.  Craig  hastily  summoned  a  cab, 
then  in  rapid  succession  called  up  Doctor  Aitken  and 
Leslie,  for  whom  we  stopped  as  our  driver  shot  us 
over  to  the  Forum  Apartments. 

There  was  no  ceremony  or  unnecessary  explana- 
tion about  our  presence,  as  Kennedy  entered  and 
directed  Miss  Langdale  to  bring  her  patients  into 
the  little  office-study  of  Doctor  Wardlaw. 

Miss  Langdale  obeyed  reluctantly.  When  she 
returned  I  felt  that  it  was  appreciable  that  a  change 
had  taken  place.  Mrs.  Wardlaw,  at  least,  was  im- 
proved. She  was  still  ill,  but  she  seemed  to  take  a 
more  lively  interest  in  what  was  going  on  about  her. 
As  for  Doctor  Wardlaw,  however,  I  could  not  see 
that  there  had  been  any  improvement  in  him.  His 
nervousness  had  not  abated.  Kato,  whom  Kennedy 
summoned  at  the  same  time,  preserved  his  usual 
imperturbable  exterior.  Miss  Langdale,  in  spite  of 
the  incident  of  the  morning,  was  quite  as  solicitous 
as  ever  of  her  charges. 

We  had  not  long  to  wait  for  Doctor  Aitken.  He 
arrived,  inquiring  anxiously  what  had  happened, 
although  Kennedy  gave  none  of  us  any  satisfaction 
immediately  as  to  the  cause  of  his  quick  action. 
Aitken  fidgeted  uneasily,  glancing  from  Kennedy  to 
Leslie,  then  to  Miss  Langdale,  and  back  to  Kennedy, 
without  reading  any  explanation  in  the  faces.  I  knew 
that  Craig  was  secretly  taking  his  time  both  for  its 
effect  on  those  present  and  to  give  Chase  a  chance. 

"Our  poisons  and  our  drugs,"  he  began,  leisurely, 
at  length,  "are  in  many  instances  the  close  relatives 

212 


THE    VITAL    PRINCIPLE 

of  harmless  compounds  that  represent  the  inter- 
mediate steps  in  the  daily  process  of  metabolism. 
There  is  much  that  I  might  say  about  protein  poi- 
sons. However,  that  is  not  exactly  what  I  want  to 
talk  about — at  least  first." 

He  stopped  to  make  sure  that  he  had  the  atten- 
tion of  us  all.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  his  manner  was 
such  that  he  attracted  even  the  vagrant  interest  of 
the  Wardlaws. 

"  I  do  not  know  how  much  of  his  suspicions  Com- 
missioner Leslie  has  communicated  to  you,"  he 
resumed,  "but  I  believe  that  you  have  all  heard  of 
the  disease  beriberi  so  common  in  the  Far  East  and 
known  to  the  Japanese  as  kakke.  It  is  a  form  of 
polyneuritis  and,  as  you  doubtless  know,  is  now 
known  to  be  caused,  at  least  in  the  Orient,  by  the 
removal  of  the  pericarp  in  the  polishing  of  rice.  Our 
milling  of  flour  is,  in  a  minor  degree,  analogous.  To 
be  brief,  the  disease  arises  from  the  lack  in  diet  of 
certain  substances  or  bodies  which  modern  scientists 
call  vitamines.  Small  quantities  of  these  vital  prin- 
ciples are  absolutely  essential  to  normal  growth  and 
health  and  even  to  life  itself.  They  are  nitrogenous 
compounds  and  their  absence  gives  rise  to  a  class  of 
serious  disorders  in  which  the  muscles  surrender  their 
store  of  nitrogen  first.  The  nerves  seems  to  be  the 
preferred  creditors,  so  to  speak.  They  are  affected 
'only  after  the  muscles  begin  to  waste.  It  is  an  ab- 
struse subject  and  it  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  go 
deeper  into  it  now." 

I  controlled  my  own  interest  in  order  to  watch 
those  about  me.    Kato,  for  one,  was  listening  atten- 
tively, I  saw. 
15  213 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

"In  my  studies  of  the  diet  of  this  household," 
continued  Kennedy,  "I  have  found  that  substances 
have  been  used  in  preparing  food  which  kill  vita- 
mines.  In  short,  the  food  has  been  denatured. 
Valuable  elements,  necessary  elements,  have  been 
taken  away." 

"I,  sir,  not  always  in  kitchen,  sir,"  interrupted 
Kato,  still  deferential.  "I  not  always  know — " 

With  a  peremptory  wave  of  his  hand  Kennedy 
silenced  the  Jap. 

"It  has  long  been  a  question,"  he  hurried  on, 
"whether  these  vitamines  are  tangible  bodies  or  just 
special  arrangements  of  molecules.  Recently  govern- 
ment investigators  have  discovered  that  they  are 
bodies  that  can  be  isolated  by  a  special  process  from 
the  filtrate  of  brewer's  yeast  by  Lloyd's  reagent. 
Five  grams  of  this"  —  he  held  up  some  of  the 
tablets  he  had  made — "for  a  sixty-kilogram  per- 
son each  day  are  sufficient.  Unknown  to  you,  I 
have  introduced  some  of  this  substance  into  the 
food  already  deficient  in  vitamines.  I  fancy  that 
even  now  I  can  detect  a  change,"  he  nodded  toward 
Mrs.  Wardlaw. 

There  was  a  murmur  of  surprise  in  the  room,  but 
before  Craig  could  continue  further  the  door  opened 
and  Mrs.  Wardlaw  uttered  a  nervous  exclamation. 
There  stood  Chase  with  a  woman.  I  recognized 
her  immediately  from  Kennedy's  description  as 
Miss  Hackstafl. 

Chase  walked  deliberately  over  to  Kennedy  and 
handed  him  something,  while  the  nurse  glanced 
calmly,  almost  with  pity,  at  Mrs.  Wardlaw,  ignoring 
Wardlaw,  then  fixing  her  gaze  venomously  on  Miss 

214 


THE    VITAL    PRINCIPLE 

Langdale.  Recalling  the  incident  of  the  morning, 
I  was  ready  to  prevent,  if  necessary,  a  repeti- 
tion now.  Neither  moved.  But  it  was  a  thrill- 
ing, if  silent,  drama  as  the  two  women  glared  at 
each  other. 

Kennedy  was  hastily  comparing  the  anonymous 
note  he  had  received  with  something  Chase  had 
brought. 

"Some  one,"  he  shot  out,  suddenly,  looking  up  and 
facing  us,  "has,  as  I  have  intimated,  been  removing 
or  destroying  the  vital  principle  in  the  food — these 
vitamines.  Clearly  the  purpose  was  to  make  this 
case  look  like  an  epidemic  of  beriberi,  polyneuritis. 
That  part  has  been  clear  to  me  for  some  time.  It 
has  been  the  source  of  this  devilish  plot  which  has 
been  obscure.  Just  a  moment,  Kato,  I  will  do  the 
talking.  My  detective,  Chase,  has  been  doing  some 
shadowing  for  me,  as  well  as  some  turning  over  of 
past  history.  He  has  found  a  woman,  a  nurse,  more 
than  a  nurse,  a  secret  lover,  cast  off  in  favor  of 
another.  Miss  Hackstaff — you  wrote  that  letter — 
it  is  your  hand — for  revenge — on  Miss  Langdale 
and—" 

"You  sha'n't  have  him!"  almost  hissed  Helen 
Hackstaff.  "If  I  cannot — no  one  shall!" 

Natalie  Langdale  faced  her,  defiant.  "You  are  a 
jealous,  suspicious  person,"  she  cried.  "Doctor 
Aitken  knows — " 

"One  moment,"  interrupted  Craig.  "Mrs.  Mar- 
bury  is  gone.  Mrs.  Wardlaw  is  weakened.  Yet  all 
who  are  affected  with  nerve  troubles  are  not  neces- 
sarily suffering  from  polyneuritis.  Some  one  here 
has  been  dilettanting  with  death.  It  is  of  no  use," 

215 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

he  thundered,  turning  suddenly  on  a  cowering  figure. 
"You  stood  to  win  most,  with  the  money  and  your 
unholy  love.  But  Miss  Hackstaff,  cast  off,  has 
proved  your  Nemesis.  Your  nervousness  is  the 
nervousness  not  of  polyneuritis,  but  of  guilt,  Doctor 
Wardlaw!" 


IX 

THE    RUBBER   DAGGER 

"TTYPNOTISM  can't  begin  to  accomplish  what 

11  Karatoff  claims.  He's  a  fake,  Kennedy,  a 
fake." 

Professor  Leslie  Gaines  of  the  Department  of 
Experimental  Psychology  at  the  university  paced 
excitedly  up  and  down  Craig's  laboratory. 

"There  have  been  complaints  to  the  County 
Medical  Society,"  he  went  on,  without  stopping, 
"and  they  have  taken  the  case  up  and  arranged  a 
demonstration  for  this  afternoon.  I've  been  dele- 
gated to  attend  it  and  report." 

I  fancied  from  his  tone  and  manner  that  there 
was  just  a  bit  more  than  professional  excitement 
involved.  We  did  not  know  Gaines  intimately, 
though  of  course  Kennedy  knew  of  him  and  he  of 
Kennedy.  Some  years  before,  I  recollected,  he  had 
married  Miss  Edith  Ashmore,  whose  family  was 
quite  prominent  socially,  and  the  marriage  had 
attracted  a  great  deal  of  attention  at  the  time,  for 
she  had  been  a  student  in  one  of  his  courses  when  he 
was  only  an  assistant  professor. 

"Who  is  Karatoff,  anyhow?"  asked  Kennedy. 
"What  is  known  about  him?" 

"Dr.  Galen  Karatoff  — a  Russian,  I  believe," 
217 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

returned  Gaines.  "He  claims  to  be  able  to  treat 
disease  by  hypnotism — suggestion,  he  calls  it, 
though  it  is  really  something  more  than  that.  As 
nearly  as  I  can  make  out  it  must  almost  amount  to 
thought  transference,  telepathy,  or  some  such  thing. 
Oh,  he  has  a  large  following;  in  fact,  some  very  well- 
known  people  in  the  smart  set  are  going  to  him. 
Why,"  he  added,  facing  us,  "Edith — my  wife — has 
become  interested  in  his  hypnotic  clinics,  as  he  calls 
them.  I  tell  her  it  is  more  than  half  sham,  but  she 
won't  believe  it." 

Gaines  paused  and  it  was  evident  that  he  hesi- 
tated over  asking  something. 

"When  is  the  demonstration?"  inquired  Kennedy, 
with  unconcealed  interest. 

The  professor  looked  at  his  watch.  "I'm  going 
over  there  now;  in  fact,  I'm  just  a  bit  late — only,  I 
happened  to  think  of  you  and  it  occurred  to  me  that 
perhaps  if  you  could  add  something  to  my  report  it 
might  carry  weight.  Would  you  like  to  come  with 
me?  Really,  I  should  think  that  it  might  interest 
you." 

So  far  Kennedy  had  said  little  besides  asking  a 
question  or  two.  I  knew  the  symptoms.  Gaines 
need  not  have  hesitated  or  urged  him.  It  was  just 
the  thing  that  appealed  to  him. 

"How  did  Mrs.  Gaines  become  interested  in  the 
thing?"  queried  Craig,  a  moment  later,  outside,  as  we 
climbed  into  the  car  with  the  professor. 

"Through  an  acquaintance  who  introduced  her 
to  Karatoff  and  the  rest.  Carita  Belleville,  the 
dancer,  you  know?" 

Kennedy  glanced  at  me  and  I  nodded  that  I  had 
218 


heard  of  her.  It  was  only  a  few  nights  before  that 
I  had  seen  Carita  at  one  of  the  midnight  revues, 
doing  a  dance  which  was  described  as  the  "hypnotic 
whirl,"  a  wild  abandon  of  grace  and  motion.  Carita 
Belleville  had  burst  like  a  meteor  on  the  sky  of  the 
"Great  White  Way,"  blazing  a  gorgeous  trail  among 
the  fixed  stars  of  that  gay  firmament.  She  had  even 
been  "taken  up"  by  society,  or  at  least  a  certain 
coterie  of  it,  had  become  much  sought  after  to  do 
exhibition  dancing  at  social  affairs,  and  now  was 
well  known  in  the  amusement  notes  of  the  news- 
papers and  at  the  fashionable  restaurants.  She 
had  hosts  of  admirers  and  I  had  no  doubt  that  Mrs. 
Gaines  might  well  have  fallen  under  the  spell  of  her 
popularity. 

"What  is  Miss  Belleville's  interest  in  Karatoff?" 
pursued  Craig,  keenly. 

Gaines  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Notoriety,  per- 
haps," he  replied.  "It  is  a  peculiar  group  that 
Karatoff  has  gathered  about  him,  they  tell  me." 

There  was  something  unsatisfactory  about  the 
answer  and  I  imagined  that  Gaines  meant  purposely 
to  leave  it  so  as  not  to  prejudice  the  case.  Somehow, 
I  felt  that  there  must  be  something  risque  in  the 
doings  of  Karatoff  and  his  "patients."  At  any  rate, 
it  was  only  natural  with  anything  that  Carita  Belle- , 
ville  was  likely  to  be  concerned  with. 

There  was  little  time  for  further  questions,  for  our 
destination  was  not  far  down  the  Drive  from  the  uni- 
versity, and  the  car  pulled  up  before  one  of  the  new 
handsome  and  ornate  "studio  apartments"  up-town. 

We  followed  Gaines  into  the  building,  and  the 
hall-boy  directed  us  to  a  suite  on  the  first  floor. 

219 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

A  moment  later  we  were  admitted  by  Karatoff 
himself  to  what  had  become  known  as  his  "hypnotic 
clinic,"  really  a  most  artistically  furnished  studio. 

Karatoff  himself  was  a  tall,  dark-haired  fellow, 
bearded,  somewhat  sallow.  Every  feature  of  his 
remarkable  face,  however,  was  subordinate  to  a 
pair  of  wonderful,  deep-set,  piercing  eyes.  Even  as 
he  spoke,  greeting  Gaines  on  the  rather  ticklish 
mission  he  had  come,  and  accepting  us  with  a  quick 
glance  and  nod,  we  could  see  instantly  that  he  was, 
indeed,  a  fascinating  fellow,  every  inch  a  mystic. 

His  clinic,  or,  as  I  have  said,  studio,  carried  out 
well  the  impression  of  mysticism  that  one  derived 
from  the  strange  personality  who  presided  over  it. 
There  were  only  two  or  three  rooms  in  the  apartment, 
one  being  the  large  room  down  the  end  of  a  very 
short  hall  to  which  he  conducted  us.  It  was  dark- 
ened, necessarily,  since  it  was  on  the  first  floor  of  the 
tall  building,  and  the  air  seemed  to  be  heavy  with 
odors  that  suggested  the  Orient.  Altogether  there 
was  a  cultivated  dreaminess  about  it  that  was  no 
less  exotic  because  studied.  Doctor  Karatoff  paused 
at  the  door  to  introduce  us,  and  we  could  see  that 
we  were  undergoing  a  close  scrutiny  from  the  party 
who  were  assembled  there. 

On  a  quaint  stand  tea  was  brewing  and  the  whole 
assemblage  had  an  atmosphere  of  bohemian  cama- 
raderie which,  with  the  professions  of  Karatoff, 
promised  well  that  Kennedy  was  not  wasting  time. 

I  watched  particularly  the  exchange  of  greetings 
between  Professor  Gaines  and  Edith  Gaines,  who 
was  already  there.  Neither  of  them  seemed  to  be 
perfectly  at  ease,  though  they  betrayed  as  little  as 

220 


THE    RUBBER    DAGGER 

they  could.  However,  one  could  not  help  noticing 
that  each  was  watching  the  other,  naturally. 

Edith  Gaines  was  a  pretty  little  woman,  petite, 
light  of  hair,  dainty,  the  very  type  of  woman  who 
craved  for  and  thrived  on  attention.  Here  at  least 
there  seemed  to  be  no  lack  of  it.  There  was  only 
one  other  woman  in  the  room  who  attracted  the 
men  equally,  Carita  Belleville  herself.  Carita  was 
indeed  a  stunning  woman,  tall,  slender,  dark,  with  a 
wonderful  pair  of  magnetic  eyes. 

As  I  watched,  I  could  see  that  both  women  were 
quite  friendly  with  Doctor  Karatoff — perhaps  even 
rivals  for  his  attentions.  I  saw  Gaines  watching 
Carita  attentively,  never  in  the  mean  time  failing 
for  long  to  lose  sight  of  Mrs.  Gaines.  Was  he  trying 
to  estimate  the  relative  popularity  of  the  two  in  this 
strange  group  ?  If  so,  I  failed  to  see  any  approval  of 
either. 

Introductions  were  now  coming  so  fast  that 
neither  Kennedy  nor  I  had  much  opportunity  ex- 
cept for  the  most  cursory  observation  of  the  people. 
Among  the  men,  however,  I  noticed  two  especially 
who  proved  worth  observation.  One  was  Armand 
Marchant,  well  known  as  a  broker,  not  so  much  for 
his  professional  doings  as  for  his  other  activities. 
Though  successful,  he  was  better  known  as  one  of 
those  who  desert  Wall  Street  promptly  at  the  hour  of 
closing,  to  be  found  late  in  the  afternoon  at  the  tea 
dances  up-town. 

Another  was  Cyril  Errol,  a  man  of  leisure,  well 
known  also  in  the  club  world.  He  had  inherited  an 
estate,  small,  perhaps,  but  ample  to  allow  him  to 
maintain  appearances.  Errol  impressed  you  as  being 

221 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

one  to  whom  the  good  things  of  the  world  appealed 
mightily,  a  hedonist,  and,  withal,  very  much  attracted 
to  and  by  the  ladies. 

It  was  fortunate  that  the  serving  of  tea  enabled 
us  to  look  about  and  get  our  bearings.  In  spite  of 
the  suppressed  excitement  and  obvious  restraint  of 
the  occasion,  we  were  able  to  learn  much  over  the 
tea-cups. 

Errol  seemed  to  vibrate  between  the  group  about 
Mrs.  Gaines  and  that  about  Miss  Belleville,  welcome 
wherever  he  went,  for  he  was  what  men  commonly 
call  a  "good  mixer."  Marchant,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  almost  always  to  be  found  not  far  from  Edith 
Gaines.  Perhaps  it  was  the  more  brilliant  conversa- 
tion that  attracted  him,  for  it  ran  on  many  subjects, 
but  it  was  difficult  to  explain  it  so  to  my  satisfaction. 
All  of  which  I  saw  Gaines  duly  noting,  not  for  the 
report  he  had  to  make  to  the  Medical  Society,  but 
for  his  own  information.  In  fact,  it  was  difficult  to 
tell  the  precise  degree  of  disapproval  with  which  he 
regarded  Karatoff,  Errol,  and  Marchant,  in  turn,  as 
he  noted  the  intimacy  of  Edith  Gaines  with  them. 
I  wished  that  we  might  observe  them  all  when  they 
did  not  know  it,  for  I  could  not  determine  whether 
she  was  taking  pleasure  in  piquing  the  professor  or 
whether  she  was  holding  her  admirers  in  leash  in  his 
presence.  At  any  rate,  I  felt  I  need  lay  no  claim  to 
clairvoyance  to  predict  the  nature  of  the  report  that 
Gaines  would  prepare. 

The  conversation  was  at  its  height  when  Karatoff 
detached  himself  from  one  of  the  groups  and  took  a 
position  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  alone.  Not  a  word 
was  said  by  him,  yet  as  if  by  magic  the  buzz  of  con- 

222 


THE    RUBBER    DAGGER 

versation  ceased.  Karatoff  looked  about  as  though 
proud  of  the  power  of  even  his  silence.  Whatever 
might  be  said  of  the  man,  at  least  his  very  presence 
seemed  to  command  respect  from  his  followers. 

I  had  expected  that  he  would  make  some  reference 
to  Gaines  and  ourselves  and  the  purpose  of  the  meet- 
ing, but  he  avoided  the  subject  and,  instead,  chose 
to  leap  right  into  the  middle  of  things. 

"So  that  there  can  be  no  question  about  what  I 
am  able  to  do,"  he  began,  "I  wish  each  of  you  to 
write  on  a  piece  of  paper  what  you  would  like  to  have 
me  cause  any  one  to  do  or  say  under  hypnotism. 
You  will  please  fold  the  paper  tightly,  covering  the 
writing.  I  will  read  the  paper  to  myself,  still  folded 
up,  will  hypnotize  the  subject,  and  will  make  the 
subject  do  whatever  is  desired.  That  will  be  pre- 
liminary to  what  I  have  to  say  later  about  my 
powers  in  hypnotic  therapeutics." 

Pieces  of  paper  and  little  lead-pencils  were  dis- 
tributed by  an  attendant  and  in  the  rustling  silence 
that  followed  each  cudgeled  his  brain  for  something 
that  would  put  to  the  test  the  powers  of  Karatoff. 

Thinking,  I  looked  about  the  room.  Near  the 
speaker  stood  a  table  on  which  lay  a  curious  collec- 
tion of  games  and  books,  musical  instruments,  and 
other  things  that  might  suggest  actions  to  be  per- 
formed in  the  test.  My  eye  wandered  to  a  phono- 
graph standing  next  the  table.  Somehow,  I  could 
not  get  Mrs.  Gaines  and  Carita  Belleville  out  of  my 
head. 

Slowly  I  wrote,  "Have  Mrs.  Gaines  pick  out  a 
record,  play  it  on  the  phonograph,  then  let  her  do  as 

she  pleases." 

223 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

Some  moments  elapsed  while  the  others  wrote. 
Apparently  they  were  trying  to  devise  methods  of 
testing  Doctor  Karatoff's  mettle.  Then  the  papers 
were  collected  and  deposited  on  the  table  beside  him. 

Apparently  at  random  Karatoff  picked  out  one  of 
the  folded  papers,  then,  seemingly  without  looking 
at  it  and  certainly  without  unfolding  it,  as  far  as  I 
could  determine,  he  held  it  up  to  his  forehead. 

It  was  an  old  trick,  I  knew.  Perhaps  he  had 
palmed  a  sponge  wet  with  alcohol  or  some  other 
liquid,  had  brushed  it  over  the  paper,  making  the 
writing  visible  through  it,  and  drying  out  rapidly  so 
as  to  leave  the  paper  opaque  again  long  before  any 
of  us  saw  it  a  second  time.  Or  was  he  really  exer- 
cising some  occult  power?  At  any  rate,  he  read  it, 
or  pretended  to  read  it,  at  least. 

"I  am  asked  to  hypnotize  Mrs.  Gaines,"  he  an- 
nounced, dropping  the  paper  unconcernedly  on  the 
table  beside  the  other  pile,  as  though  this  were  mere 
child's  play  for  his  powers.  It  was  something  of  a 
shock  to  realize  that  it  was  my  paper  he  had  chanced 
to  pick  up  first,  and  I  leaned  forward  eagerly, 
watching. 

Mrs.  Gaines  rose  and  every  eye  was  riveted  on 
her  as  Karatoff  placed  her  in  an  easy-chair  before 
him.  There  was  an  expectant  silence,  as  Karatoff 
moved  the  chair  so  that  she  could  concentrate  her 
attention  only  on  a  bright  silver  globe  suspended 
from  the  ceiling.  The  half-light,  the  heavy  atmos- 
phere, the  quiet,  assured  manner  of  the  chief  actor 
in  the  scene,  all  combined  to  make  hypnotization 
as  nearly  possible  as  circumstances  could.  Karatoff 
moved  before  her,  passing  his  hands  with  a  peculiar 

224 


THE    RUBBER    DAGGER 

motion  before  her  eyes.  It  seemed  an  incredibly 
short  time  in  which  Edith  Gaines  yielded  to  the 
strange  force  which  fascinated  the  group. 

"Quite  susceptible,"  murmured  Kennedy,  beside 
me,  engrossed  in  the  operation. 

"It  is  my  test,"  I  whispered  back,  and  he 
nodded. 

Slowly  Edith  Gaines  rose  from  the  chair,  faced  us 
with  unseeing  eyes,  except  as  Karatoff  directed. 
Karatoff  himself  was  a  study.  It  seemed  as  if  he  had 
focused  every  ounce  of  his  faculties  on  the  accom- 
plishment of  the  task  in  hand.  Slowly  still  the 
woman  moved,  as  if  in  a  dream  walk,  over  toward 
the  phonograph,  reached  into  the  cabinet  beneath 
it  and  drew  forth  a  book  of  records.  Karatoff  faced 
us,  as  if  to  assure  us  that  at  that  point  he  had  re- 
signed his  control  and  was  now  letting  her  act  for 
her  subconscious  self. 

Her  fingers  passed  over  page  after  page  until 
finally  she  stopped,  drew  forth  the  record,  placed  it 
on  the  machine,  wound  it,  then  placed  the  record  on 
the  revolving  disk. 

My  first  surprise  was  quickly  changed  to  gratifica- 
tion. She  had  picked  out  the  music  to  the  "Hyp- 
notic Whirl."  I  bent  forward,  more  intent.  What 
would  she  do  next  ? 

As  she  turned  I  could  see,  even  in  the  dim  light, 
a  heightened  color  in  her  cheeks,  as  though  the 
excitement  of  the  catchy  music  had  infected  her. 
A  moment  later  she  was  executing,  and  very  credit- 
ably, too,  an  imitation  of  Carita  herself  in  the 
Revue.  What  did  it  mean?  Was  it  that  consciously 
or  unconsciously  she  was  taking  the  slender  dancer 

225 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

as  her  model?  The  skill  and  knowledge  that  she  put 
into  the  dance  showed  plainly. 

Next  to  Kennedy,  I  saw  Gaines  leaning  far  for- 
ward, looking  now  at  his  wife,  now  at  the  little 
group.  I  followed  his  eyes.  To  my  surprise,  I  saw 
Marchant,  his  gaze  riveted  on  Edith  Gaines  as  if  she 
had  been  the  star  performer  in  a  play.  Evidently 
my  chance  request  to  Karatoff  had  been  builded 
better  than  I  knew.  I  ran  my  gaze  over  the  others. 
Errol  was  no  less  engrossed  than  Marchant.  Quickly 
I  glanced  at  Carita,  wondering  whether  she  might 
be  gratified  by  the  performance  of  a  pupil.  Whether 
it  was  natural  grace  or  real  hypnotism  in  the  "Hyp- 
notic Whirl,"  I  was  surprised  to  see  on  Carita's  face 
something  that  looked  strangely  akin  to  jealousy.  It 
was  as  though  some  other  woman  had  usurped  her 
prerogative.  She  leaned  over  to  speak  to  Errol  with 
the  easy  familiarity  of  an  old  admirer.  I  could  not 
hear  what  was  said  and  perhaps  it  was  inconsequen- 
tial. In  fact,  it  must  have  been  the  very  inconse- 
quentiality  of  his  reply  that  piqued  her.  He  glanced 
at  Marchant  a  moment,  as  if  she  had  said  some- 
thing about  him,  then  back  at  Edith  Gaines.  On 
his  part,  Professor  Gaines  was  growing  more  and 
more  furious. 

I  had  just  about  decided  that  the  little  drama  in 
the  audience  was  of  far  more  importance  and  interest 
than  even  the  dance,  when  the  music  ceased.  Kara- 
toff  approached,  took  Mrs.  Gaines  by  the  hand,  led 
her  back  to  the  chair,  and,  at  a  word,  she  regained 
her  normal  consciousness.  As  she  rose,  still  in  a  daze 
it  seemed,  it  was  quite  evident  that  she  had  no 
waking  realization  of  what  had  happened,  for  she 

226 


THE    RUBBER    DAGGER 

walked  back  and  sat  down  beside  her  husband,  quite 
as  though  nothing  had  happened. 

As  for  me,  I  could  not  help  wondering  what  had 
actually  happened.  What  did  it  all  mean  ?  Had  Mrs. 
Gaines  expressed  her  own  self — or  was  it  Karatoff — 
or  Marchant — or  Errol  ?  What  was  the  part  played 
by  Carita  Belleville?  Gaines  did  not  betray  any- 
thing to  her,  but  their  mutual  attitude  was  eloquent. 
There  was  something  of  which  he  disapproved  and 
she  knew  it,  some  lack  of  harmony.  What  was  the 
cause  ? 

As  for  Karatoff's  exhibition,  it  was  all  truly  re- 
markable, whether  in  his  therapeutics  the  man  was 
a  faker  or  not. 

Karatoff  seemed  to  realize  that  he  had  made  a  hit. 
Without  giving  any  one  a  chance  to  question  him, 
he  reached  down  quickly  and  picked  up  another  of 
the  papers,  repeating  the  process  through  which  he 
had  gone  before. 

"Mr.  Errol,"  he  summoned,  placing  the  second 
folded  paper  on  the  table  with  the  first. 

Errol  rose  and  went  forward  and  Karatoff  placed 
him  in  the  chair  as  he  had  Mrs.  Gaines.  There 
seemed  to  be  no  hesitation,  at  least  on  the  part  of 
Karatoff's  followers,  to  being  hypnotized. 

Whatever  it  was  written  on  the  paper,  the  writer 
had  evidently  not  trusted  to  chance,  as  I  had,  but  had 
told  specifically  what  to  do. 

At  the  mute  bidding  of  Karatoff  Errol  rose.  We 
watched  breathlessly.  Deliberately  he  walked  across 
the  room  to  the  table,  and,  to  the  astonishment 
of  all  save  one,  picked  up  a  rubber  dagger,  one  of 
those  with  which  children  play,  which  was  lying  in 

227 


THE    TREASURE-TRAIN 

the  miscellaneous  pile  on  the  table.  I  had  not 
noticed  it,  but  some  one's  keen  eye  had,  and  evi- 
dently it  had  suggested  a  melodramatic  request. 

Quickly  Errol  turned.  If  he  had  been  a  motion- 
picture  actor,  he  could  not  have  portrayed  better 
the  similitude  of  hate  that  was  written  on  his  face. 
A  few  strides  and  he  had  advanced  toward  our  little 
audience,  now  keyed  up  to  the  highest  pitch  of 
excitement  by  the  extraordinary  exhibition. 

"Of  course,"  remarked  Karatoff,  as  at  a  word 
Errol  paused,  still  poising  the  dagger,  "you  know 
that  under  hypnotism  in  the  psychological  labora- 
tory a  patient  has  often  struck  at  his  'enemy  with 
a  rubber  dagger,  going  through  all  the  motions  of 
real  passion.  Now!" 

No  word  was  said  by  Karatoff  to  indicate  to  Errol 
what  it  was  that  he  was  to  do.  But  a  gasp  went  up 
from  some  one  as  he  took  another  step  and  it  was 
evident  that  it  was  Marchant  whom  he  had  singled 
out.  For  just  a  moment  Errol  poised  the  rubber 
dagger  over  his  "victim,"  as  if  gloating.  It  was 
dramatic,  realistic.  As  Errol  paused,  Marchant 
smiled  at  the  rest  of  us,  a  sickly  smile,  I  thought,  as 
though  he  would  have  said  that  the  play  was  being 
carried  too  far. 

Never  for  a  moment  did  Errol  take  from  him  the 
menacing  look.  It  was  only  a  moment  in  the  play, 
yet  it  was  so  unexpected  that  it  seemed  ages.  Then, 
swiftly,  down  came  the  dagger  on  Marchant 's  left 
side  just  over  the  breast,  the  rubber  point  bending 
pliantly  as  it  descended. 

A  sharp  cry  escaped  Marchant.  I  looked  quickly. 
He  had  fallen  forward,  face  down,  on  the  floor. 

328 


THE    RUBBER    DAGGER 

Edith  Gaines  screamed  as  we  rushed  to  Marchant 
and  turned  him  over.  For  the  moment,  as  Kennedy, 
Karatoff ,  and  Gaines  bent  over  him  and  endeavored 
to  loosen  his  collar  and  apply  a  restorative,  conster- 
nation reigned  in  the  little  circle.  I  bent  over,  too, 
and  looked  first  at  Marchant's  flushed  face,  then  at 
Kennedy.  Marchant  was  dead! 

There  was  not  a  mark  on  him,  apparently.  Only 
a  moment  before  he  had  been  one  of  us.  We  could 
look  at  one  another  only  in  amazement,  tinged 
with  fear.  Killed  by  a  rubber  dagger?  Was  it 
possible  ? 

"Call  an  ambulance — quick!"  directed  Kennedy 
to  me,  though  I  knew  that  he  knew  it  was  of  no  use 
except  as  a  matter  of  form. 

We  stood  about  the  prostrate  form,  stunned.  In 
a  few  moments  the  police  would  be  there.  Instinc- 
tively we  looked  at  Karatoff.  Plainly  he  was  nervous 
and  overwrought  now.  His  voice  shook  as  he 
brought  Errol  out  of  the  trance,  and  Errol,  dazed, 
uncomprehending,  struggled  to  take  in  the  horribly 
unreal  tragedy  which  greeted  his  return  to  con- 
sciousness. 

"It — it  was  an  accident,"  muttered  Karatoff, 
eagerly  trying  to  justify  himself,  though  trembling 
for  once  in  his  life.  "Arteriosclerosis,  perhaps,  hard- 
ening of  the  arteries,  some  weakness  of  the  heart. 
I  never — " 

He  cut  the  words  short  as  Edith  Gaines  reeled  and 
fell  into  her  husband's  arms.  She  seemed  com- 
pletely prostrated  by  the  shock.  Or  was  it  weak- 
ness following  the  high  mental  tension  of  her  own 
hypnotization?  Together  we  endeavored  to  revive 
16  229 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

her,  waiting  for  the  first  flutter  of  her  eyelids,  which 
seemed  an  interminable  time. 

Errol  in  the  mean  time  was  pacing  the  floor  like 
one  in  a  dream.  Events  had  followed  one  another 
so  fast  in  the  confusion  that  I  had  only  an  unrelated 
series  of  impressions.  It  was  not  until  a  moment 
later  that  I  realized  the  full  import  of  the  affair, 
when  I  saw  Kennedy  standing  near  the  table  in  the 
position  Karatoff  had  assumed,  a  strange  look  of 
perplexity  on  his  face.  Slowly  I  realized  what  was 
the  cause.  The  papers  on  which  were  written  the 
requests  for  the  exhibitions  of  Karatoff's  skill  were 
gone! 

Whatever  was  done  must  be  done  quickly,  and 
Kennedy  looked  about  with  a  glance  that  missed 
nothing.  Before  I  could  say  a  word  about  the 
papers  he  had  crossed  the  room  to  where  Marchant 
had  been  standing  in  the  little  group  about  Edith 
Gaines  as  we  entered.  On  a  side-table  stood  the  tea- 
cup from  which  he  had  been  sipping.  With  his  back 
to  the  rest,  Kennedy  drew  from  his  breast  pocket  a 
little  emergency  case  he  carried  containing  a  few 
thin  miniature  glass  tubes.  Quickly  he  poured  the 
few  drops  of  the  dregs  of  the  tea  into  one  of  the 
tubes,  then  into  others  tea  from  the  other  cups. 

Again  he  looked  at  the  face  of  Marchant  as  though 
trying  to  read  in  the  horrified  smile  that  had  petrified 
on  it  some  mysterious  secret  hidden  underneath. 
Slowly  the  question  was  shaping  in  my  mind,  was 
it,  as  Karatoff  would  have  us  believe,  an  accident  ? 

The  clang  of  a  bell  outside  threw  us  all  into  worse 
confusion,  and  a  moment  later,  almost  together,  a 
white-coated  surgeon  and  a  blue-coated  policeman 

230 


THE    RUBBER   DAGGER 

burst  into  the  room.  It  seemed  almost  no  time,  in 
the  swirl  of  events,  before  the  policeman  was  joined 
by  a  detective  assigned  by  the  Central  Office  to  that 
district. 

"Well,  doctor,"  demanded  the  detective  as  he 
entered,  "what's  the  verdict?" 

"Arteriosclerosis,  I  think,"  replied  the  young 
surgeon.  "They  tell  me  there  was  some  kind  of 
hypnotic  seance  going  on.  One  of  them  named 
Errol  struck  at  him  with  a  rubber  dagger,  and — " 

' '  Get  out !"  scoffed  the  Central  Office  man.  ' '  Killed 
by  a  rubber  dagger!  Say,  what  do  you  think  we 
are  ?  What  did  you  find  when  you  entered,  sergeant  ?" 

The  policeman  handed  the  detective  the  rubber 
dagger  which  he  had  picked  up,  forgotten,  on  the 
floor  where  Errol  had  dropped  it  when  he  came  out 
from  the  hypnotization. 

The  detective  took  it  gingerly  and  suspiciously, 
with  a  growl.  "I'll  have  the  point  of  this  analyzed. 
It  may  be — well — we  won't  say  what  may  be.  But 
I  can  tell  you  what  is.  You,  Doctor  Karatoff,  or 
whatever  your  name  is,  and  you,  Mr.  Errol,  are  under 
arrest.  It's  a  good  deal  easier  to  take  you  now  than 
it  will  be  later.  Then  if  you  can  get  a  judge  to  re- 
lease you,  we'll  at  least  know  where  you  are." 

"This  is  outrageous,  preposterous!"  stormed  Kara- 
toff. 

"Can't  help  it,"  returned  the  officer,  coolly. 

"Why,"  exclaimed  Carita  Belleville,  excitedly  pro- 
jecting herself  before  the  two  prisoners,  "it's  ridicu- 
lous! Even  the  ambulance  surgeon  says  it  was 
arteriosclerosis,  an  accident.  I — " 

"Very  well,  madam,"  calmed  the  sergeant.  "So 
231 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

much  the  better.  They'll  get  out  of  our  hands  that 
much  quicker.  Just  at  present  it  is  my  duty." 

Errol  was  standing  silent,  his  eyes  averted  from 
the  hideous  form  on  the  floor,  not  by  word  or  action 
betraying  a  feeling.  The  police  moved  to  the  door. 

Weak  and  trembling  still  from  the  triple  shock 
she  had  received,  Edith  Gaines  leaned  heavily  on 
the  arm  of  her  husband,  but  it  was,  as  nearly  as  I 
could  make  out,  only  for  physical  support. 

"I  told  you,  Edith,  it  was  a  dangerous  business," 
I  heard  him  mutter.  "Only  I  never  contemplated 
that  they'd  carry  it  this  far.  Now  you  see  what 
such  foolishness  can  lead  to." 

Weak  though  she  was,  she  drew  away  and  flashed 
a  glance  at  him,  resenting  his  man's  "  I-told-you-so  " 
manner.  The  last  I  saw  of  them  in  the  confusion 
was  as  they  drove  off  in  the  car,  still  unreconciled. 

Kennedy  seemed  well  contented,  for  the  present 
at  least,  to  allow  the  police  a  free  hand  with  Errol 
and  Karatoff.  As  for  me,  Mrs.  Gaines  and  Carita 
Belleville  presented  a  perplexing  problem,  but  I 
said  nothing,  for  he  was  hurrying  back  now  to  his 
laboratory. 

At  once  he  drew  forth  the  little  tube  containing 
the  few  drops  of  tea  and  emptied  a  drop  or  two  into 
a  beaker  of  freshly  distilled  water  as  carefully  as  if 
the  tea  had  been  some  elixir  of  life.  As  he  was 
examining  the  contents  of  the  beaker  his  face 
clouded  with  thought. 

"Do  you  find  anything?"  I  asked,  eagerly. 

Kennedy  shook  his  head.  "There's  something 
wrong,"  he  hazarded.  "Perhaps  it's  only  fancy,  but 
I  am  sure  that  there  is  something  with  a  slight  odor 

232 


THE    RUBBER    DAGGER 

in  the  tea,  something  tea-like,  but  with  a  more 
bitter  taste,  something  that  would  be  nauseous  if 
not  concealed  in  the  tea.  There's  more  than  tannin 
and  sugar  here." 

"Then  you  think  that  some  one  present  placed 
something  in  the  tea?"  I  inquired,  shuddering  at  the 
thought  that  we  had  run  some  unknown  danger. 

"I  can't  just  say,  without  further  investigation  of 
this  and  the  other  samples  I  took." 

"Still,  you  have  eliminated  that  ridiculous  dagger 
theory,"  I  ventured. 

"The  police  can  never  appreciate  the  part  it 
played,"  Craig  answered,  non-committally,  laying 
out  various  chemicals  preparatory  to  his  exhaustive 
analysis.  "I  began  to  suspect  something  the  mo- 
ment I  noticed  that  those  notes  which  we  all  wrote 
were  gone.  When  we  find  out  about  this  tea  we 
may  find  who  took  them.  Perhaps  the  mystery  is 
not  such  a  mystery  after  all,  then." 

There  seemed  to  be  nothing  that  I  could  do,  in  the 
mean  time,  except  to  refrain  from  hindering  Kennedy 
in  his  investigations,  and  I  decided  to  leave  him  at  the 
laboratory  while  I  devoted  my  time  to  watching 
what  the  police  might  by  chance  turn  up,  even  if 
they  should  prove  to  be  working  on  the  wrong  angle 
of  the  case. 

I  soon  found  that  they  were  showing  energy,  if 
nothing  else.  Although  it  was  so  soon  after  the  death 
of  Marchant,  they  had  determined  that  there  could 
not  have  been  anything  but  rubber  on  the  end  of 
the  toy  dagger  which  had  excited  the  doubts  of  the 
detective. 

As  for  the  autopsy  that  was  performed  on  Mar- 
233 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

chant,  it  did,  indeed,  show  that  he  was  suffering 
from  hardening  of  the  arteries,  due  to  his  manner 
of  living,  as  Karatoff  had  asserted.  Indeed,  the 
police  succeeded  in  showing  that  it  was  just  for 
that  trouble  that  Marchant  was  going  to  Karatoff, 
which,  to  my  mind,  seemed  quite  sufficient  to  estab- 
lish the  therapeutic  hypnotist  as  all  that  Gaines  had 
accused  him  of  being.  Even  to  my  lay  mind  the 
treatment  of  arteriosclerosis  by  mental  healing 
seemed,  to  say  the  least,  incongruous. 

Yet  the  evidence  against  Karatoff  and  Errol  was 
so  flimsy  that  they  had  little  trouble  in  getting  re- 
leased on  bail,  though,  of  course,  it  was  fixed  very 
high. 

My  own  inquiries  among  the  other  reporters  on 
the  Star  who  might  know  something  offered  a  more 
promising  lead.  I  soon  found  that  Errol  had  none 
too  savory  a  reputation.  His  manner  of  life  had 
added  nothing  to  his  slender  means,  and  there  was 
a  general  impression  among  his  fellow  club-members 
that  unfortunate  investments  had  made  serious 
inroads  into  the  principal  of  his  fortune.  Still,  I 
hesitated  to  form  even  an  opinion  on  gossip. 

Quite  unsatisfied  with  the  result  of  my  investiga- 
tion, I  could  not  restrain  my  impatience  to  get  back 
to  the  laboratory  to  find  out  whether  Kennedy  had 
made  any  progress  in  his  tests  of  the  tea. 

"If  you  had  been  five  minutes  earlier,"  he  greeted 
me,  "you  would  have  been  surprised  to  find  a  visitor." 

"A  visitor?"  I  repeated.    "Who?" 

"Carita  Belleville,"  he  replied,  enjoying  my  incre- 
dulity. 

"What  could  she  want?"  I  asked,  at  length. 
234 


THE    RUBBER    DAGGER 

"That's  what  I've  been  wondering,"  he  agreed. 
"Her  excuse  was  plausible.  She  said  that  she  had 
just  heard  why  I  had  come  with  Gaines.  I  suppose 
it  was  half  an  hour  that  she  spent  endeavoring  to 
convince  me  that  Karatoff  and  Errol  could  not  pos- 
sibly have  had  any  other  connection  than  accidental 
with  the  death  of  Marchant." 

1 '  Could  it  have  been  a  word  for  them  and  half  an 
hour  for  herself?"  I  queried,  mystified. 

Kennedy  shrugged.  "I  can't  say.  At  any  rate, 
I  must  see  both  Karatoff  and  Errol,  now  that  they 
are  out.  Perhaps  they  did  send  her,  thinking  I  might 
fall  for  her.  She  hinted  pretty  broadly  at  using  my 
influence  with  Gaines  on  his  report.  Then,  again, 
she  may  simply  have  been  wondering  how  she  herself 
stood." 

"Have  you  found  anything?"  I  asked,  noticing 
that  his  laboratory  table  was  piled  high  with  its 
usual  paraphernalia. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  laconically,  taking  a  bottle  of 
concentrated  sulphuric  acid  and  pouring  a  few 
drops  in  a  beaker  of  slightly  tinged  water. 

The  water  turned  slowly  to  a  beautiful  green. 
No  sooner  was  the  reaction  complete  than  he  took 
some  bromine  and  added  it.  Slowly  again  the  water 
changed,  this  time  from  the  green  to  a  peculiar  violet 
red.  Adding  more  water  restored  the  green  color. 

"That's  the  Grandeau  test,"  he  nodded,  with 
satisfaction.  "I've  tried  the  physiological  test,  too, 
with  frogs  from  the  biological  department,  and  it 
shows  the  effect  on  the  heart  that  I — " 

"What  shows  the  effect?"  I  interrupted,  somewhat 
impatiently. 

235 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

"Oh,  to  be  sure,"  he  smiled.  "I  forgot  I  hadn't 
told  you  what  I  suspected.  Why,  digitalis — fox- 
glove, you  know.  I  suppose  it  never  occurred  to  the 
police  that  the  rubber  dagger  might  have  covered  up 
a  peculiar  poisoning?  Well,  if  they'll  take  the  con- 
tents of  the  stomach,  in  alcohol,  with  a  little  water 
acidulated,  strain  off  the  filtrate  and  try  it  on  a  dog, 
they  will  see  that  its  effect  is  the  effect  of  digitalis. 
Digitalis  is  an  accumulative  poison  and  a  powerful 
stimulant  of  arterial  walls,  by  experimental  evidence 
an  ideal  drug  for  the  purpose  of  increasing  blood 
pressure.  Don't  you  see  it?"  he  added,  excitedly. 
"The  rubber  dagger  was  only  a  means  to  an  end. 
Some  one  who  knew  the  weakness  of  Marchant  first 
placed  digitalis  in  his  tea.  That  was  possible  be- 
cause of  the  taste  of  the  tea.  Then,  in  the  excite- 
ment of  the  act  pantomimed  by  Errol,  Marchant's 
disease  carried  him  off,  exactly  as  was  to  be  expected 
under  the  circumstances.  It  was  clever,  diabolically 
clever.  Whoever  did  it  destroyed  the  note  in  which 
the  act  was  suggested  and  counted  that  no  one  would 
ever  stop  to  search  for  a  poison  in  the  tangle  of 
events." 

Slowly  but  clearly  I  began  to  realize  how  cer- 
tainly Kennedy  was  reconstructing  the  strange  case. 
But  who  was  it?  What  was  the  motive  back  of  this 
sinister  murder  that  had  been  so  carefully  planned 
that  no  one  would  ever  suspect  a  crime? 

I  had  hardly  framed  the  queries  when  our  tele- 
phone rang.  It  was  the  Central  Office  man.  The 
detective  had  anticipated  my  own  line  of  inquiry, 
only  had  gone  much  further  with  it.  He  had  found 
a  clear  record  of  the  business  relations  existing  be- 

236 


THE    RUBBER   DAGGER 

tween  Errol  and  Marchant.  One  episode  consisted 
of  a  stock  deal  between  them  in  which  Errol  had 
invested  in  a  stock  which  Marchant  was  promoting 
and  was  known  to  be  what  brokers  call  "cats  and 
dogs."  That,  I  reasoned,  must  have  been  the  basis 
of  the  gossip  that  Errol  had  suffered  financial  losses 
that  seriously  impaired  his  little  fortune.  It  was  an 
important  item  and  Kennedy  accepted  it  gladly,  but 
said  nothing  of  his  own  discovery.  The  time  had 
not  arrived  yet  to  come  out  into  the  open. 

For  a  few  moments  after  the  talk  with  the  de- 
tective Kennedy  seemed  to  be  revolving  the  case, 
as  though  in  doubt  whether  the  new  information 
cleared  it  up  or  added  to  the  mystery.  Then  he  rose 
suddenly. 

"We  must  find  Karatoff,"  he  announced. 

Whatever  might  have  been  the  connection  of  the 
hypnotist  with  this  strange  case,  he  was  far  too 
clever  to  betray  himself  by  any  such  misstep  as 
seeming  to  avoid  inquiry.  We  found  him  easily  at 
his  studio  apartment,  nor  did  we  have  any  difficulty 
in  gaining  admittance.  He  knew  that  he  was 
watched  and  that  frankness  was  his  best  weapon  of 
defense. 

"Of  course,"  opened  Kennedy,  "you  know  that 
investigation  has  shown  that  you  were  right  in  your 
diagnosis  of  the  trouble  with  Marchant.  Was  it 
arteriosclerosis  for  which  you  were  treating  him?" 

"It  would  be  unprofessional  to  discuss  it,"  hastily 
parried  Karatoff,  "but,  since  Mr.  Marchant  is  now 
dead,  I  think  I  may  say  that  it  was.  In  fact,  few 
persons,  outside  of  those  whom  I  have  associated 
about  me,  realize  to  what  a  wonderful  extent  hypno- 

237 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

tism  may  be  carried  in  the  treatment  of  disease. 
WLy,  I  have  even  had  wonderful  success  with  such 
disorders  as  diabetes  mellitus.  We  are  only  on  the 
threshold  of  understanding  what  a  wonderful  thing 
is  the  human  mind  in  its  effect  on  the  material  body." 

"But  another  patient  might  have  known  what 
Marchant  was  being  treated  for?"  interrupted  Ken- 
nedy, ignoring  the  defense  of  Karatoff,  which  was 
proceeding  along  the  stereotyped  lines  of  such  va- 
garies which  seem  never  to  be  without  followers. 

Karatoff  looked  at  him  a  moment  in  surprise. 
Evidently  he  was  doing  some  hasty  mental  calcula- 
tion to  determine  what  was  Craig's  ulterior  motive. 
And,  in  spite  of  his  almost  uncanny  claims  and  per- 
formances, I  could  see  that  he  was  able  to  read 
Kennedy's  mind  no  whit  better  than  myself. 

"I  suppose  so,"  he  admitted.  "No  doctor  was 
ever  able  to  control  his  patients'  tongues.  Some- 
times they  boast  of  their  diseases." 

"Especially  if  they  are  women?"  hinted  Kennedy, 
watching  the  effect  of  the  remark  keenly.  ' '  I  have 
just  had  the  pleasure  of  a  visit  from  Carita  Belleville 
in  my  laboratory." 

"Indeed?"  returned  Karatoff,  with  difficulty  re- 
straining his  curiosity.  "Miss  Belleville  has  been 
very  kind  in  introducing  me  to  some  of  her  friends 
and  acquaintances,  and  I  flatter  myself  that  I  have 
been  able  to  do  them  much  good." 

"Then  she  was  not  a  patient?"  pursued  Kennedy, 
studiously  avoiding  enlightening  Karatoff  on  the 
visit. 

"Rather  a  friend,"  he  replied,  quickly.  "It  was 
she  who  introduced  Mr.  Errol." 

238 


THE    RUBBER    DAGGER 

"They  are  quite  intimate,  I  believe,"  put  in 
Kennedy  at  a  chance. 

"Really,  I  knew  very  little  about  it,"  Karatoff 
avoided. 

"Did  she  introduce  Mr.  Marchant?" 

"She  introduced  Mrs.  Gaines,  who  introduced  Mr. 
Marchant,"  the  hypnotist  replied,  with  apparent 
frankness. 

"You  were  treating  Mrs.  Gaines?"  asked  Craig, 
again  shifting  the  attack  unexpectedly. 

"Yes,"  admitted  Karatoff,  stopping. 

"I  imagine  her  trouble  was  more  mental  than 
physical,"  remarked  Kennedy,  in  a  casual  tone,  as 
though  feeling  his  way. 

Karatoff  looked  up  keenly,  but  was  unable  to  read 
Kennedy's  face.  "I  think,"  he  said,  slowly,  "that 
one  trouble  was  that  Mrs.  Gaines  liked  the  social 
life  better  than  the  simple  life." 

"Your  clinic,  Mr.  Marchant,  and  the  rest  better 
than  her  husband  and  the  social  life  at  the  univer- 
sity," amplified  Kennedy.  "I  think  you  are  right. 
She  had  drifted  away  from  her  husband,  and  when  a 
woman  does  that  she  has  hosts  of  admirers — of  a 
certain  sort.  I  should  say  that  Mr.  Errol  was  the 
kind  who  would  care  more  for  the  social  life  than  the 
simple  life,  as  you  put  it,  too." 

I  did  not  gather  in  what  direction  Kennedy  was 
tending,  but  it  was  evident  that  Karatoff  felt  more 
at  ease.  Was  it  because  the  quest  seemed  to  be 
leading  away  from  himself? 

"I  had  noticed  something  of  the  sort,"  he  vent- 
ured. "I  saw  that  they  were  alike  in  that  respect, 
but,  of  course,  Mr.  Marchant  was  her  friend." 

239 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

Suddenly  the  implication  flashed  over  me,  but 
before  I  could  say  anything  Kennedy  cut  in,  "Then 
Mr.  Errol  might  have  been  enacting  under  hypnotism 
what  were  really  his  own  feelings  and  desires?" 

"I  cannot  say  that,"  replied  Karatoff,  seeking  to 
dodge  the  issue.  "But  under  the  influence  of  sug- 
gestion I  suppose  it  is  true  that  an  evil-minded 
person  might  suggest  to  another  the  commission  of  a 
crime,  and  the  other,  deprived  of  free  will,  might  do 
it.  The  rubber  dagger  has  often  been  used  for  sham 
murders.  The  possibility  of  actual  murder  cannot 
be  denied.  In  this  case,  however,  there  can  be  no 
question  that  it  was  an  unfortunate  accident." 

"No  question?"  demanded  Kennedy,  directly. 

If  Karatoff  was  concealing  anything,  he  made 
good  concealment.  Either  to  protect  himself  or 
another  he  showed  no  evidence  of  weakening  his 
first  theory  of  the  case. 

"No  question  as  far  as  I  know,"  he  reiterated. 

I  wondered  whether  Kennedy  planned  to  en- 
lighten him  on  the  results  of  his  laboratory  tests, 
but  was  afraid  to  look  at  either  for  fear  of  betraying 
some  hint.  I  was  glad  I  did  not.  Kennedy's  next 
question  carried  him  far  afield  from  the  subject. 

"Did  you  know  that  the  Medical  Society  were 
interested  in  you  and  your  clinic  before  the  demon- 
stration before  Professor  Gaines  was  arranged?" 

"I  suspected  some  one  was  interested,"  answered 
Karatoff,  quickly.  ' '  But  I  had  no  idea  who  it  might 
be.  As  I  think  it  over  now,  perhaps  it  was  Professor 
Gaines  who  instigated  the  whole  inquiry.  He  would 
most  likely  be  interested.  My  work  is  so  far  in 
advance  of  any  that  the  conservative  psychologists 

240 


THE    RUBBER    DAGGER 

do  that  he  would  naturally  feel  hostile,  would  he 
not?" 

"Especially  with  the  added  personal  motive  of 
knowing  that  his  wife  was  one  of  your  patients, 
along  with  Carita  Belleville,  Marchant,  Enrol,  and 
the  rest,"  added  Kennedy. 

Karatoff  smiled.  "I  would  not  have  said  that 
myself.  But  since  you  have  said  it,  I  cannot  help 
admitting  its  truth.  Don't  you  suppose  I  could 
predict  the  nature  of  any  report  he  would  make?" 

Karatoff  faced  Kennedy  squarely.  There  was  an 
air  almost  of  triumph  in  his  eyes.  "I  think  I  had 
better  say  no  more,  except  under  the  advice  of  my 
lawyer,"  he  remarked,  finally.  "When  the  police 
want  me,  they  can  find  me  here." 

Quite  evident  to  me  now,  as  we  went  out  of  the 
studio,  was  the  fact  that  Karatoff  considered  himself 
a  martyr,  that  he  was  not  only  the  victim  of  an 
accident,  but  of  persecution  as  well. 

"The  fishing  was  good,"  remarked  Kennedy, 
tersely,  as  we  reached  the  street.  "Now  before  I 
see  Errol  I  should  like  to  see  Gaines  again." 

I  tried  to  reason  it  out  as  we  walked  along  in 
silence.  Marchant  had  known  Edith  Gaines  inti- 
mately. Carita  Belleville  had  known  Errol  as  well. 
I  recalled  Errol  hovering  about  Mrs.  Gaines  at  the 
tea  and  the  incident  during  the  seance  when  Carita 
Belleville  had  betrayed  her  annoyance  over  some 
remark  by  Errol.  The  dancing  by  Edith  Gaines 
had  given  a  flash  of  the  jealous  nature  of  the  woman. 
Had  it  been  interest  in  Errol  that  had  led  her  to  visit 
the  laboratory?  Kennedy  was  weaving  a  web  about 
some  one,  I  knew.  But  about  whom? 

241 


THE    TREASURE-TRAIN 

As  we  passed  a  corner,  he  paused,  entered  a 
store  and  called  up  several  numbers  at  a  pay-station 
telephone  booth.  Then  we  turned  into  the  campus 
and  proceeded  rapidly  toward  the  laboratory  of  the 
psychological  department.  Gaines  was  there,  sitting 
at  his  desk,  writing,  as  we  entered. 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you,"  he  greeted,  laying  down  his 
work.  "I  am  just  finishing  the  draft  of  my  report  on 
that  Karatoff  affair.  I  have  been  trying  to  reach 
you  by  telephone  to  know  whether  you  would  add 
anything  to  it.  Is  there  anything  new?" 

"Yes,"  returned  Kennedy,  "there  is  something 
new.  I've  just  come  from  Karatoff 's  and  on  the 
way  I  decided  suddenly  that  it  was  time  we  did  some- 
thing. So  I  have  called  up,  and  the  police  will  bring 
Errol  here,  as  well  as  Miss  Belleville.  Karatoff  will 
come — he  won't  dare  stay  away;  and  I  also  took 
the  liberty  of  calling  Mrs.  Gaines." 

"To  come  here?"  repeated  Gaines,  in  mild  sur- 
prise. "All  of  them?" 

"Yes.  I  hope  you  will  pardon  me  for  intruding, 
but  I  want  to  borrow  some  of  your  psychological 
laboratory  apparatus,  and  I  thought  the  easiest  way 
would  be  to  use  it  here  rather  than  take  it  all  over  to 
my  place  and  set  it  up  again." 

"I'm  sure  everything  is  at  your  service,"  offered 
Gaines.  "It's  a  little  unexpected,  but  if  the  others 
can  stand  the  chaotic  condition  of  the  room,  I  guess 
we  can." 

Kennedy  had  been  running  his  eye  over  the  various 
instruments  which  Gaines  and  his  students  used  in 
their  studies,  and  was  now  examining  something  in 
a  corner  on  a  little  table.  It  was  a  peculiar  affair, 

242 


THE    RUBBER    DAGGER 

quite  simple,  but  conveying  to  me  no  idea  of  its  use. 
There  seemed  to  be  a  cuff,  a  glass  chamber  full  of 
water  into  which  it  fitted,  tubes  and  wires  that 
attached  various  dials  and  recording  instruments  to 
the  chamber,  and  what  looked  like  a  chronograph. 

"That  is  my  new  plethysmograph,"  remarked 
Gaines,  noting  with  some  satisfaction  how  Kennedy 
had  singled  it  out. 

"I've  heard  the  students  talk  of  it,"  returned 
Kennedy.  "It's  an  improved  apparatus,  Walter, 
that  records  one's  blood  flow."  I  nodded  politely 
and  concealed  my  ignorance  in  a  discreet  silence, 
hoping  that  Gaines  would  voluntarily  enlighten  us. 

"One  of  my  students  is  preparing  an  exhaustive 
table,"  went  on  Gaines,  as  I  had  hoped,  "showing 
the  effects  on  blood  distribution  of  different  stimuli — 
for  instance,  cold,  heat,  chloroform,  arenalin,  desire, 
disgust,  fear;  physical  conditions,  drugs,  emotions — 
all  sorts  of  things  can  be  studied  by  this  plethysmo- 
graph which  can  be  set  to  record  blood  flow  through 
the  brain,  the  extremities,  any  part  of  the  body. 
When  the  thing  is  charted  I  think  we  shall  have 
opened  up  a  new  field." 

"Certainly  a  very  promising  one  for  me,"  put  in 
Kennedy.  "How  has  this  machine  been  improved? 
I've  seen  the  old  ones,  but  this  is  the  first  time  I've 
seen  this.  How  does  it  work?" 

"Well,"  explained  Gaines,  with  just  a  touch  of 
pride,  "you  see,  for  studying  blood  flow  in  the  ex- 
tremities, I  slip  this  cuff  over  my  arm,  we'll  say.  Sup- 
pose it  is  the  effect  of  pain  I  want  to  study.  Just 
jab  that  needle  in  my  other  arm.  Don't  mind.  It's 
in  the  interest  of  science.  See,  when  I  winced  then, 

243 


THE    TREASURE-TRAIN 

the  plethysmograph  recorded  it.  It  smarts  a  bit 
and  I'm  trying  to  imagine  it  smarts  worse.  You'll 
see  how  pain  affects  blood  flow." 

As  he  watched  the  indicator,  Kennedy  asked  one 
question  after  another  about  the  working  of  the 
machine,  and  the  manner  in  which  the  modern 
psychologist  was  studying  every  emotion. 

"By  the  way,  Walter,"  he  interrupted,  glancing 
at  his  watch,  "call  up  and  see  if  they've  started 
with  Errol  and  the  rest  yet.  Don't  stop,  Gaines.  I 
must  understand  this  thing  before  they  get  here. 
It's  just  the  thing  I  want." 

"I  should  be  glad  to  let  you  have  it,  then,"  replied 
Gaines. 

"I  think  I'll  need  something  new  with  these 
people,"  went  on  Kennedy.  "Why,  do  you  know 
what  I've  discovered?" 

"No,  but  I  hope  it's  something  I  can  add  to  my 
report?" 

"Perhaps.  We'll  see.  In  the  first  place,  I  found 
that  digitalis  had  been  put  in  Marchant's  tea." 

"They'll  be  here  directly,"  I  reported  from  the 
telephone,  hanging  it  up  and  joining  them  again. 

"It  couldn't  have  been  an  accident,  as  Karatoff 
said,"  went  on  Kennedy,  rapidly.  "The  drug  in- 
creased the  blood  pressure  of  Marchant,  who  was 
already  suffering  from  hardening  of  the  arteries. 
In  short,  it  is  my  belief  that  the  episode  of  the 
rubber  dagger  was  deliberately  planned,  an  elaborate 
scheme  to  get  Marchant  out  of  the  way.  No  one 
else  seems  to  have  noticed  it,  but  those  slips  of  paper 
on  which  we  all  wrote  have  disappeared.  At  the 
worst,  it  would  look  like  an  accident,  Karatoff  would 

244 


THE    RUBBER    DAGGER 

be  blamed,  and — "  There  was  a  noise  outside  as 
the  car  pulled  up. 

"Here,  let  me  take  this  off  before  any  of  them 
see  it,"  whispered  Gaines,  removing  the  cuff,  just  as 
the  door  opened  and  Errol  and  Karatoff,  Carita 
Belleville  and  Edith  Gaines  entered. 

Before  even  a  word  of  greeting  passed,  Kennedy 
stepped  forward.  "It  was  not  an  accident,"  he 
repeated.  ' '  It  was  a  deliberately  planned,  apparently 
safe  means  of  revenge  on  Marchant,  the  lover  of 
Mrs.  Gaines.  Without  your  new  plethysmograph, 
Gaines,  you  might  have  thrown  it  on  an  innocent 
person!" 

17 


X 

THE    SUBMARINE   MINE 

"TTERE'S  the  bullet.    What  I  want  you  to  do, 

il  Professor  Kennedy,  is  to  catch  the  crank  who 
fired  it." 

Capt.  Lansing  Marlowe,  head  of  the  new  American 
Shipbuilding  Trust,  had  summoned  us  in  haste  to 
the  Belleclaire  and  had  met  us  in  his  suite  with  his 
daughter  Marjorie.  Only  a  glance  was  needed  to 
see  that  it  was  she,  far  more  than  her  father,  who  was 
worried. 

"You  must  catch  him,"  she  appealed.  "Father's 
life  is  in  danger.  Oh,  you  simply  must." 

I  knew  Captain  Marlowe  to  be  a  proverbial  fire- 
eater,  but  in  this  case,  at  least,  he  was  no  alarmist. 
For,  on  the  table,  as  he  spoke,  he  laid  a  real  bullet. 

Marjorie  Marlowe  shuddered  at  the  mere  sight  of 
it  and  glanced  apprehensively  at  him  as  if  to  reassure 
herself.  She  was  a  tall,  slender  girl,  scarcely  out  of 
her  'teens,  whose  face  was  one  of  those  quite  as 
striking  for  its  character  as  its  beauty.  The  death 
of  her  mother  a  few  years  before  had  placed  on  her 
much  of  the  responsibility  of  the  captain's  house- 
hold and  with  it  a  charm  added  to  youth. 

More  under  the  spell  of  her  plea  than  even  Mar- 
lowe's vigorous  urging,  Kennedy,  without  a  word, 

246 


THE    SUBMARINE    MINE 

picked  up  the  bullet  and  examined  it.  It  was  one  of 
the  modern  spitzer  type,  quite  short,  conical  in 
shape,  tapering  gradually,  with  the  center  of  gravity 
back  near  the  base. 

"I  suppose  you  know,"  went  on  the  captain, 
eagerly,  "that  our  company  is  getting  ready  to- 
morrow to  launch  the  Usona,  the  largest  liner  that 
has  ever  been  built  on  this  side  of  the  water — the 
name  is  made  up  of  the  initials  of  the  United  States 
of  North  America. 

"Just  now,"  he  added,  enthusiastically,  "is  what 
I  call  the  golden  opportunity  for  American  shipping. 
While  England  and  Germany  are  crippled,  it's  our 
chance  to  put  the  American  flag  on  the  sea  as  it  was 
in  the  old  days,  and  we're  going  to  do  it.  Why,  the 
shipyards  of  my  company  are  worked  beyond  their 
capacity  now." 

Somehow  the  captain's  enthusiasm  was  con- 
tagious. I  could  see  that  his  daughter  felt  it,  that 
she  was  full  of  fire  over  the  idea.  But  at  the  same 
time  something  vastly  more  personal  weighed  on 
her  mind. 

"But,  father,"  she  interrupted,  anxiously,  "tell 
them  about  the  bullet." 

The  captain  smiled  indulgently  as  though  he 
would  say  that  he  was  a  tough  old  bird  to  wing.  It 
was  only  a  mask  to  hide  the  fighting  spirit  under- 
neath. 

"We've  had  nothing  but  trouble  ever  since  we 
laid  the  keel  of  that  ship,"  he  continued,  pugnacious- 
ly, "strikes,  a  fire  in  the  yard,  delays,  about  every- 
thing that  could  happen.  Lately  we've  noticed  a 
motor-boat  hanging  about  the  river-front  of  the 

247 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

yards.  So  I've  had  a  boat  of  my  own  patrolling  the 
river." 

"What  sort  of  craft  is  this  other?"  inquired 
Kennedy,  interested  at  once. 

"A  very  fast  one — like  those  express  cruisers  that 
we  hear  so  much  about  now." 

"Whose  is  it?  Who  was  in  it?  Have  you  any 
idea?" 

Marlowe  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  "No  idea. 
I  don't  know  who  owns  the  boat  or  who  runs  it. 
My  men  tell  me  they  think  they've  seen  a  woman  in 
it  sometimes,  though.  I've  been  trying  to  figure  it 
out.  Why  should  it  be  hanging  about?  It  can't  be 
spying.  There  isn't  any  secrecy  about  the  Usona. 
Why  is  it?  It's  a  mystery." 

"And  the  shot?"  prompted  Craig,  tapping  the 
bullet. 

"Oh  yes,  let  me  tell  you.  Last  night,  Marjorie 
and  I  arrived  from  Bar  Harbor  on  my  yacht,  for 
the  launching.  It's  anchored  off  the  yard  now. 
Well,  early  this  morning,  while  it  was  still  gray  and 
misty,  I  was  up.  I'll  confess  I'm  worried  over  to- 
morrow. I  hadn't  been  able  to  forget  that  cruiser. 
I  was  out  on  the  deck,  peering  into  the  mist,  when 
I'm  sure  I  saw  her.  I  was  just  giving  a  signal  to  the 
boat  we  have  patrolling,  when  a  shot  whistled  past 
me  and  the  bullet  buried  itself  in  the  woodwork  of 
the  main  saloon  back  of  me.  I  dug  it  out  of  the 
wood  with  my  knife — so  you  see  I  got  it  almost 
unflattened.  That's  all  I  have  got,  too.  The  cruiser 
made  a  getaway,  clean." 

"I'm  sure  it  was  aimed  at  him,"  Marjorie  ex- 
claimed. "I  don't  think  it  was  chance.  Don't  you 

248 


THE    SUBMARINE   MINE 

see?  They've  tried  everything  else.  Now  if  they 
could  get  my  father,  the  head  of  the  company,  that 
would  be  a  blow  that  would  cripple  the  trust." 

Marlowe  patted  his  daughter's  hand  reassuringly 
and  smiled  again,  as  though  not  to  magnify  the 
incident. 

"Marjorie  was  so  alarmed,"  he  confessed,  "that 
nothing  would  satisfy  her  but  that  I  should  come 
ashore  and  stay  here  at  the  Belleclaire,  where  we 
always  put  up  when  we  are  in  town." 

The  telephone  rang  and  Marjorie  answered  it.  "I 
hope  you'll  pardon  me,"  she  excused,  hanging  up 
the  receiver.  "They  want  me  very  much  down- 
stairs." Then  appealing,  she  added:  "I'll  have  to 
leave  you  with  father.  But,  please,  you  must  catch 
that  crank  who  is  threatening  him." 

"I  shall  do  my  level  best,"  promised  Kennedy. 
"You  may  depend  on  that." 

"You  see,"  explained  the  captain  as  she  left  us, 
"I've  invited  quite  a  large  party  to  attend  the 
launching,  for  one  reason  or  another.  Marjorie 
must  play  hostess.  They're  mostly  here  at  the 
hotel.  Perhaps  you  saw  some  of  them  as  you 
came  in." 

Craig  was  still  scanning  the  bullet.  "It  looks 
almost  as  if  some  one  had  dum-dummed  it,"  he  re- 
marked, finally.  "It's  curiously  done,  too.  Just 
look  at  those  grooves." 

Both  the  captain  and  I  looked.  It  had  a  hard 
jacket  of  cupro-nickel,  like  the  army  bullet,  covering 
a  core  of  softer  metal.  Some  one  had  notched  or 
scored  the  jacket  as  if  with  a  sharp  knife,  though  not 
completely  through  it.  Had  it  been  done  for  the 

249 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

purpose  of  inflicting  a  more  frightful  wound  if  it 
struck  the  captain  ? 

"There  've  been  other  shots,  too,"  went  on  Mar- 
lowe. "One  of  my  watchmen  was  wounded  the 
night  before.  It  didn't  look  like  a  serious  wound, 
in  the  leg.  Yet  the  poor  fellow  seems  to  be  in  a  bad 
way,  they  tell  me." 

"How  is  that?"  asked  Craig,  glancing  up  quickly 
from  studying  the  bullet. 

"The  wound  seems  to  be  all  puffed  up,  and  very 
painful.  It  won't  heal,  and  he  seems  to  be  weak  and 
feverish.  Why,  I'm  afraid  the  man  will  die." 

"I'd  like  to  see  that  case,"  remarked  Kennedy, 
thoughtfully. 

"Very  well.  I'll  have  you  driven  to  the  hospital 
where  we  have  had  to  take  him." 

"I'd  like  to  see  the  yards,  too,  and  the  Usona," 
he  added. 

"All  right.  After  you  go  to  the  hospital  I'll  meet 
you  at  the  yards  at  noon.  Now  if  you'll  come 
down-stairs  with  me,  I'll  get  my  car  and  have  you 
taken  to  the  hospital  first." 

We  followed  Marlowe  into  the  elevator  and  rode 
down.  In  the  large  parlor  we  saw  that  Marjorie 
Marlowe  had  joined  a  group  of  the  guests,  and  the 
captain  turned  aside  to  introduce  us. 

Among  them  I  noticed  a  striking-looking  woman, 
somewhat  older  than  Marjorie.  She  turned  as  we 
approached  and  greeted  the  captain  cordially. 

"I'm  so  glad  there  was  nothing  serious  this  morn- 
ing," she  remarked,  extending  her  hand  to  him. 

"Oh,  nothing  at  all,  nothing  at  all,"  he  returned, 
holding  the  hand,  I  thought,  just  a  bit  longer  than 

2  to 


THE    SUBMARINE    MINE 

was  necessary.  Then  he  turned  to  us,  "Miss  Alma 
Hillman,  let  me  present  Professor  Kennedy  and  Mr. 
Jameson." 

I  was  not  so  preoccupied  in  taking  in  the  group 
that  I  did  not  notice  that  the  captain  was  more  than 
ordinarily  attentive  to  her.  Nor  can  I  say  that  I 
blamed  him,  for,  although  he  might  almost  have 
been  her  father  in  age,  there  was  a  fascination  about 
her  that  youth  does  riot  often  possess. 

Talking  with  her  had  been  a  young  man,  slender, 
good-looking,  with  almost  a  military  bearing. 

"Mr.  Ogilvie  Fitzhugh,"  introduced  Marjorie, 
seeing  that  her  father  was  neglecting  his  duties. 

Fitzhugh  bowed  and  shook  hands,  murmured 
something  stereotyped,  and  turned  again  to  speak  to 
Marjorie. 

I  watched  the  young  people  closely.  If  Captain 
Marlowe  was  interested  in  Alma,  it  was  more  than 
evident  that  Fitzhugh  was  absolutely  captivated  by 
Marjorie,  and  I  fancied  that  Marjorie  was  not 
averse  to  him,  for  he  had  a  personality  and  a  manner 
which  were  very  pleasing. 

As  the  conversation  ran  gaily  on  to  the  launching 
and  the  gathering  party  of  notables  who  were  ex- 
pected that  night  and  the  next  day,  I  noticed  that 
a  dark-eyed,  dark-haired,  olive-complexioned  young 
man  approached  and  joined  us. 

"Doctor  Gavira,"  said  Marlowe,  turning  to  us, 
his  tone  indicating  that  he  was  well  acquainted  about 
the  hotel.  "He  is  our  house  physician." 

Gavira  also  was  welcomed  in  the  party,  chatting 
with  animation.  It  was  apparent  that  the  physician 
also  was  very  popular  with  the  ladies,  and  it  needed 

251 


THE' TREASURE-TRAIN 

only  half  an  eye  to  discern  that  Fitzhugh  was  jealous 
when  he  talked  to  Marjorie,  while  Marlowe  but  ill 
concealed  his  restlessness  when  Gavira  spoke  to 
Alma.  As  for  Alma,  she  seemed  to  treat  all  men 
impartially,  except  that  just  now  it  pleased  her  to 
bestow  the  favor  of  her  attention  on  the  captain. 

Just  then  a  young  lady,  all  in  white,  passed. 
Plainly  she  did  not  belong  to  the  group,  though  she 
was  much  interested  in  it.  As  his  eye  roved  over 
the  parlor,  Gavira  caught  her  glance  and  bowed. 
She  returned  it,  but  her  look  did  not  linger.  For  a 
moment  she  glanced  sharply  at  Fitzhugh,  still  talk- 
ing to  Marjorie,  then  at  Marlowe  and  Alma  Hillman. 
She  was  a  very  pretty  girl  with  eyes  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  control.  Perhaps  there  was  somewhat  of 
the  flirt  in  her.  It  was  not  that  that  interested 
me.  For  there  was  something  almost  akin  to  jeal- 
ousy in  the  look  she  gave  the  other  woman.  Mar- 
lowe was  too  engrossed  to  see  her  and  she  passed 
on  slowly.  What  did  it  mean,  if  anything? 

The  conversation,  as  usual  at  such  times,  con- 
sisted mostly  of  witticisms,  and  just  at  present  we 
had  a  rather  serious  bit  of  business  in  hand.  Ken- 
nedy did  not  betray  any  of  the  impatience  that  I 
felt,  yet  I  knew  he  was  glad  when  Marlowe  excused 
himself  and  we  left  the  party  and  passed  down  the 
corridor  while  the  captain  called  his  car. 

"I  don't  know  how  you  are  going  to  get  at  this 
thing,"  he  remarked,  pausing  after  he  had  sent  a  boy 
for  his  driver.  "But  I'll  have  to  rely  on  you.  I've 
told  you  all  I  know.  I'll  see  you  at  noon,  at  the 
yards.  My  man  will  take  you  there." 

As  he  turned  and  left  us  I  saw  that  he  was  going 
252 


THE    SUBMARINE    MINE 

in  the  direction  of  the  barber-shop.  Next  to  it  and 
in  connection  with  it,  though  in  a  separate  room, 
was  a  manicure.  As  we  passed  we  looked  in.  There, 
at  the  manicure's  table,  sat  the  girl  who  had  gone 
by  us  in  the  parlor  and  had  looked  so  sharply  at 
Marlowe  and  Alma. 

The  boy  had  told  us  that  the  car  was  waiting  at  a 
side  entrance,  but  Kennedy  seemed  now  in  no  haste 
to  go,  the  more  so  when  Marlowe,  instead  of  going 
into  the  barber-shop,  apparently  changed  his  mind 
and  entered  the  manicure's.  Craig  stopped  and 
watched.  From  where  we  were  we  could  see  Mar- 
lowe, though  his  back  was  turned,  and  neither  he 
nor  the  manicure  could  see  us. 

For  a  moment  the  captain  paused  and  spoke, 
then  sat  down.  Quite  evidently  he  had  a  keen  eye 
for  a  pretty  face  and  trim  figure.  Nor  was  there  any 
mistaking  the  pains  which  the  manicure  took  to 
please  her  rich  and  elderly  customer.  After  watch- 
ing them  a  moment  Kennedy  lounged  over  to  the 
desk  in  the  lobby. 

"Who  is  the  little  manicure  girl?"  he  asked. 

The  clerk  smiled.  "Seems  as  if  she  was  a  good 
drawing-card  for  the  house,  doesn't  it?"  he  returned. 
"All  the  men  notice  her.  Why,  her  name  is  Rae 
Melzer."  He  turned  to  speak  to  another  guest 
before  Kennedy  could  follow  with  another  inquiry. 

As  we  stood  before  the  desk,  a  postman,  with  the 
parcel  post,  arrived.  "Here's  a  package  addressed 
to  Dr.  Fernando  Gavira,"  he  said,  brusquely.  "It 
was  broken  in  the  mail.  See?" 

Kennedy,  waiting  for  the  clerk  to  be  free  again, 
glanced  casually  at  the  package  at  first,  then  with 

253 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

a  sudden,  though  concealed,  interest.  I  followed  his 
eye.  In  the  crushed  box  could  be  seen  some  thin 
broken  pieces  of  glass  and  a  wadding  of  cotton- wool. 

As  the  clerk  signed  for  another  package  Craig 
saw  a  chance,  reached  over  and  abstracted  two  or 
three  of  the  broken  pieces  of  glass,  then  turned  with 
his  back  to  the  postman  and  clerk  and  examined 
them. 

One  I  saw  at  once  had  a  rim  around  it.  It  was 
quite  apparently  the  top  of  a  test-tube.  The  other, 
to  which  some  cotton-wool  still  adhered,  was  part  of 
the  rounded  bowl.  Quickly  Craig  dropped  the  pieces 
into  one  of  the  hotel  envelopes  that  stood  in  a  rack 
on  the  desk,  then,  changing  his  mind  about  asking 
more  now  about  the  little  manicure,  strode  out  of  the 
side  entrance  where  Marlowe's  car  was  waiting  for  us. 

Hurriedly  we  drove  across  town  to  the  City  Hospi- 
tal, where  we  had  no  difficulty  in  being  admitted  and 
finding,  in  a  ward,  on  a  white  cot,  the  wounded 
guard.  Though  his  wound  was  one  that  should  not 
have  bothered  him  much,  it  had,  as  Marlowe  said, 
puffed  up  angrily  and  in  a  most  peculiar  manner. 
He  was  in  great  pain  with  it  and  was  plainly  in  a 
bad  way. 

Though  he  questioned  the  man,  Craig  did  not 
get  anything  out  of  him  except  that  the  shot  had 
come  from  a  cruiser  which  had  been  hanging  about 
and  was  much  faster  than  the  patrol  boat.  The 
nurse  and  a  young  intern  seemed  inclined  to  be 
reticent,  as  though  we  might  imply  that  the  man's 
condition  reflected  on  the  care  he  had  received,  which 
they  were  at  pains  to  convince  us  had  been  perfect. 

Puzzled  himself,  Craig  did  not  say  much,  but  as 
254 


THE    SUBMARINE    MINE 

he  pondered  the  case,  shook  his  head  gravely  to 
himself  and  finally  walked  out  of  the  hospital 
abstractedly. 

"We  have  almost  an  hour  before  we  are  to  meet 
Marlowe  at  the  yard,"  he  considered,  as  we  came  to 
the  car.  "I  think  I'll  go  up  to  the  laboratory  first." 

In  the  quiet  of  his  own  workshop,  Kennedy  care- 
fully examined  again  the  peculiar  grooves  on  the 
bullet.  He  was  about  to  scrape  it,  but  paused.  In- 
stead, he  filled  a  tube  with  a  soapy  solution,  placed 
the  bullet  in  it,  and  let  it  stand.  Next  he  did  the 
same  with  the  pieces  of  glass  from  the  envelope. 

Then  he  opened  a  drawer  and  from  a  number  of 
capillary  pipettes  selected  a  plain  capillary  tube  of 
glass.  He  held  it  in  the  flame  of  a  burner  until  it 
was  red  hot.  Then  carefully  he  drew  out  one  end 
of  the  tube  until  it  was  hair  fine.  Again  he  heated 
the  other  end,  but  this  time  he  let  the  end  alone, 
except  that  he  allowed  it  to  bend  by  gravity,  then 
cool.  It  now  had  a  siphon  curve.  Another  tube  he 
treated  in  the  same  way. 

By  this  time  he  was  ready  to  proceed  with  what 
he  had  in  mind.  He  took  a  glass  slide  and  on  it 
placed  a  drop  from  each  of  the  tubes  containing  the 
bullet  and  the  glass.  That  done,  he  placed  the  bent, 
larger  end  of  the  capillary  tubes  in  turn  on  each  of 
the  drops  on  the  slide.  The  liquid  ascended  the 
tubes  by  capillary  attraction  and  siphoned  over  the 
curve,  running  as  he  turned  the  tubes  up  to  the 
finely  pointed  ends. 

Next  in  a  watch  glass  he  placed  some  caustic  soda 
and  in  another  some  pyrogallic  acid,  from  each  of 
which  he  took  just  a  drop,  as  he  had  done  before, 

255 


THE    TREASURE-TRAIN 

inclining  the  tubes  to  let  the  fluid  gravitate  to  the 
throttle  end.  Finally  in  the  flame  he  sealed  both 
the  tip  and  butt  of  the  tubes. 

"There's  a  bubble  of  air  in  there,"  he  remarked. 
"The  acid  and  the  soda  will  absorb  the  oxygen  from 
it.  Then  I  can  tell  whether  I'm  right.  By  the  way, 
we'll  have  to  hurry  if  we're  to  be  on  time  to  meet 
Marlowe  in  the  yard,"  he  announced,  glancing  at 
his  watch  as  he  placed  the  tubes  in  his  little  electric 
incubator. 

We  were  a  little  late  as  the  chauffeur  pulled  in  at 
the  executive  offices  at  the  gate  of  the  shipyard,  and 
Marlowe  was  waiting  impatiently  for  us.  Evidently 
he  wanted  action,  but  Kennedy  said  nothing  yet  of 
what  he  suspected  and  appeared  now  to  be  interested 
only  in  the  yard. 

It  was  indeed  something  to  interest  any  one. 
Everywhere  were  tokens  of  feverish  activity,  in 
office,  shop,  and  slip.  As  we  picked  our  way  across, 
little  narrow  and  big  wide  gauge  engines  and  trains 
whistled  and  steamed  about.  We  passed  rolling- 
mills,  forging-machines,  and  giant  shearing-machines, 
furnaces  for  heating  the  frames  or  ribs,  stone  floors 
on  which  they  could  be  pegged  out  and  bent  to  shape, 
places  for  rolling  and  trimming  the  plates,  every- 
thing needed  from  the  keel  plates  to  the  deck. 

In  the  towering  superstructure  of  the  building 
slip  we  at  last  came  to  the  huge  steel  monster  itself, 
the  Usona.  As  we  approached,  above  us  rose  her 
bow,  higher  than  a  house,  with  poppets  both  there 
and  at  the  stern,  as  well  as  bracing  to  support  her. 
All  had  been  done  up  to  the  launching,  the  stem  and 
stern  posts  set  in  place,  her  sides  framed  and  plated 

256 


THE    SUBMARINE    MINE 

up,  decks  laid,  bulkheads  and  casings  completed, 
even  much  of  her  internal  fitting  done. 

Overhead  and  all  about  the  huge  monster  was  a 
fairy  network  of  steel,  the  vast  permanent  con- 
struction of  columns  and  overhead  girders.  Sus- 
pended beneath  was  a  series  of  tracks  carrying 
traveling  and  revolving  cranes  capable  of  handling 
the  heaviest  pieces.  We  climbed  to  the  top  and 
looked  down  at  the  vast  stretch  of  hundreds  of  feet 
of  deck.  It  was  so  vast  that  it  seemed  rather  the 
work  of  a  superman  than  of  the  puny  little  humans 
working  on  her. 

As  I  looked  down  the  slip  where  the  Usona  stood 
inclined  about  half  an  inch  to  the  foot,  I  appreciated 
as  never  before  what  a  task  it  was  merely  to  get  her 
into  the  water. 

Below  again,  Marlowe  explained  to  us  how  the 
launching  ways  were  composed  of  the  ground  ways, 
fastened  to  the  ground  as  the  name  implied,  and  the 
sliding  ways  that  were  to  move  over  them.  The 
sliding  ways,  he  ,said,  were  composed  of  a  lower 
course  and  an  upper  course,  on  which  rested  the 
"cradle,"  fitting  closely  the  side  of  the  ship. 

To  launch  her,  she  must  be  lifted  slightly  by  the 
sliding  ways  and  cradle  from  the  keel  blocks  and 
bilge  blocks,  and  this  was  done  by  oak  wedges,  hun- 
dreds of  which  we  could  see  jammed  between  the 
upper  and  lower  courses  of  sliding  ways.  Next  he 
pointed  out  the  rib-bands  which  were  to  keep  the 
sliding  ways  on  the  ground  ways,  and  at  the  bow  the 
points  on  either  side  where  the  sliding  and  ground 
ways  were  bolted  together  by  two  huge  timbers 
known  as  sole  pieces. 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

"You  see,"  he  concluded,  "it  is  a  gigantic  task 
to  lift  thousands  of  tons  of  steel  and  literally  carry 
it  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  forty  feet  of  water  in  less 
than  a  minute.  Everything  has  to  be  calculated  to 
a  nicety.  It's  a  matter  of  mathematics — the  mo- 
ment of  weight,  the  moment  of  buoyancy,  and  all 
that.  This  launching  apparatus  is  strong,  but  com- 
pared to  the  weight  it  has  to  carry  it  is  really  deli- 
cate. Why,  even  a  stray  bolt  in  the  ways  would  be 
a  serious  matter.  That's  why  we  have  to  have  this 
eternal  vigilance." 

As  he  spoke  with  a  significant  look  at  Kennedy,  I 
felt  that  it  was  no  wonder  that  Marlowe  was  alarmed 
for  the  safety  of  the  ship.  Millions  were  at  stake  for 
just  that  minute  of  launching. 

It  was  all  very  interesting  and  we  talked  with  men 
whom  it  was  a  pleasure  to  see  handling  great  prob- 
lems so  capably.  But  none  could  shed  any  light  on 
the  problem  which  it  was  Kennedy's  to  solve.  And 
yet  I  felt  sure,  as  I  watched  Craig,  that  unsatisfactory 
as  it  appeared  to  Marlowe  and  to  myself,  he  was 
slowly  forming  some  kind  of  theory,  or  at  least  plan 
of  action,  in  his  head. 

"You'll  find  me  either  here  or  at  the  hotel — I 
imagine,"  returned  Marlowe  to  Kennedy's  inquiry 
as  we  parted  from  him.  "I've  instructed  all  the  men 
to  keep  their  eyes  open.  I  hope  some  of  us  have 
something  to  report  soon." 

Whether  or  not  the  remark  was  intended  as  a 
hint  to  Kennedy,  it  was  unnecessary.  He  was  work- 
ing as  fast  and  as  surely  as  he  could,  going  over  in 
hours  what  others  had  failed  to  fathom  in  weeks. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  we  got  back  to  the  laboratory 
258 


THE    SUBMARINE    MINE 

and  Craig  began  immediately  by  taking  from  the 
little  electric  incubator  the  two  crooked  tubes  he 
had  left  there.  Breaking  off  the  ends  with  tweezers, 
he  began  examining  on  slides  the  two  drops  that 
exuded,  using  his  most  powerful  microscope.  I  was 
forced  to  curb  my  impatience  as  he  proceeded  care- 
fully, but  I  knew  that  Craig  was  making  sure  of  his 
ground  at  each  step. 

"I  suppose  you're  bursting  with  curiosity,"  he 
remarked  at  last,  looking  up  from  his  examination  of 
one  of  the  slides.  "Well,  here  is  a  drop  that  shows 
what  was  in  the  grooves  of  that  bullet.  Just  take  a 
look." 

I  applied  my  eye  to  the  microscope.  All  I  could 
see  was  some  dots  and  rods,  sometimes  something 
that  looked  like  chains  of  dots  and  rods,  the  rods 
straight  with  square  ends,  sometimes  isolated,  but 
more  usually  joined  end  to  end  in  long  strings. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked,  not  much  enlightened  by 
what  he  had  permitted  me  to  see. 

"Anaerobic  bacilli  and  spores,"  he  replied,  ex- 
citedly. "The  things  that  produce  the  well-known 
'gas  gangrene'  of  the  trenches,  the  gas  phlegmon 
bacilli — all  sorts,  the  bacillus  aerogenes  capsulatus, 
bacillus  proteus,  pyogenic  cocci,  and  others,  actively 
gas-forming  microbes  that  can't  live  in  air.  The 
method  I  took  to  develop  and  discover  them  was 
that  of  Col.  Sir  Almroth  Wright  of  the  British  army 
medical  corps." 

"And  that  is  what  was  on  the  bullet?"  I  queried. 

"The  spores  or  seeds,"  he  replied.  "In  the  tubes, 
by  excluding  the  air,  I  have  developed  the  bacilli. 
Why,  Walter,"  he  went  on,  seriously,  "those  are 

259 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

among  the  microbes  most  dreaded  in  the  infection  of 
wounds.  The  spores  live  in  the  earth,  it  has  been 
discovered,  especially  in  cultivated  soil,  and  they 
are  extraordinarily  long-lived,  lying  dormant  for 
years,  waiting  for  a  chance  to  develop.  These  rods 
you  saw  are  only  from  five  to  fifteen  thousandths  of 
a  millimeter  long  and  not  more  than  one-thousandth 
of  a  millimeter  broad. 

"You  can't  see  them  move  here,  because  the  air 
has  paralyzed  them.  But  these  vibrios  move  among 
the  corpuscles  of  the  blood  just  as  a  snake  moves 
through  the  grass,  to  quote  Pasteur.  If  I  colored 
them  you  would  see  that  each  is  covered  with  fine 
vibrating  hairs  three  or  four  times  as  long  as  itself. 
At  certain  times  an  oval  mass  forms  in  them.  That 
is  the  spore  which  lives  so  long  and  is  so  hard  to 
kill.  It  was  the  spores  that  were  on  the  bullet.  They 
resist  any  temperature  except  comparatively  high 
and  prolonged,  and  even  resist  antiseptics  for  a  long 
time.  On  the  surface  of  a  wound  they  aren't  so 
bad;  but  deep  in  they  distil  minute  gas  bubbles, 
puff  up  the  surrounding  tissues,  and  are  almost  im- 
possible to  combat." 

As  he  explained  what  he  had  found,  I  could  only 
stare  at  him  while  the  diabolical  nature  of  the  attack 
impressed  itself  on  my  mind.  Some  one  had  tried 
to  murder  Marlowe  in  this  most  hideous  way.  No 
need  to  be  an  accurate  marksman  when  a  mere 
scratch  from  such  a  bullet  meant  ultimate  death 
anyhow. 

Why  had  it  been  done  and  where  had  the  cultures 
come  from?  I  asked  myself.  I  realized  fully  the 
difficulty  of  trying  to  trace  them.  Any  one  could 

260 


THE    SUBMARINE    MINE 

purchase  germs,  I  knew.  There  was  no  law  govern- 
ing the  sale. 

Craig  was  at  work  again  over  his  microscope. 
Again  he  looked  up  at  me.  "Here  on  this  other  film 
I  find  the  same  sort  of  wisp-like  anaerobes,"  he  an- 
nounced. ' '  There  was  the  same  thing  on  those  pieces 
of  glass  that  I  got." 

In  my  horror  at  the  discovery,  I  had  forgotten  the 
broken  package  that  had  come  to  the  hotel  desk 
while  we  stood  there. 

"Then  it  was  Gavira  who  was  receiving  spores 
and  cultures  of  the  anaerobes!"  I  exclaimed,  ex- 
citedly. 

"But  that  doesn't  prove  that  it  was  he  who  used 
them,"  cautioned  Craig,  adding,  "not  yet,  at  least." 

Important  as  the  discoveries  were  which  he  had 
made,  I  was  not  much  farther  along  in  fixing  the 
guilt  of  anybody  in  particular  in  the  case.  Kennedy, 
however,  did  not  seem  to  be  perturbed,  though  I 
wondered  what  theory  he  could  have  worked  out. 

' '  I  think  the  best  thing  for  us  to  do  will  be  to  run 
over  to  the  Belleclaire,"  he  decided  as  he  doffed  his 
laboratory  coat  and  carefully  cleansed  his  hands  in 
an  antiseptic  almost  boiling  hot.  "I  should  like  to 
see  Marlowe  again,  and,  besides,  there  we  can  watch 
some  of  these  people  around  him." 

Whom  he  meant  other  than  Gavira  I  had  no  idea, 
but  I  felt  sure  that  with  the  launching  now  only  a 
matter  of  hours  something  was  bound  to  happen 
soon. 

Marlowe  was  out  when  we  arrived;  in  fact,  had 
not  yet  returned  from  the  yard.  Nor  had  many  of 
the  guests  remained  at  the  hotel  during  the  day. 

is  261 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

Most  of  them  had  been  out  sightseeing,  though  now 
they  were  returning,  and  as  they  began  to  gather  in 
the  hotel  parlor  Marjorie  was  again  called  on  to 
put  them  at  their  ease. 

Fitzhugh  had  returned  and  had  wasted  no  time 
dressing  and  getting  down-stairs  again  to  be  near 
Marjorie.  Gavira  also  appeared,  having  been  out 
on  a  case. 

"I  wish  you  would  call  up  the  shipyard,  Walter," 
asked  Kennedy,  as  we  stood  in  the  lobby,  where  we 
could  see  best  what  was  going  on.  "Tell  him  I 
would  like  to  see  him  very  urgently." 

I  found  the  number  and  entered  a  booth,  but,  as 
often  happens,  the  telephone  central  was  over- 
whelmed by  the  rush  of  early-evening  calls,  and  after 
waiting  some  time  the  only  satisfaction  I  got  was 
that  the  line  was  busy. 

Meanwhile  I  decided  to  stick  about  the  booth  so 
that  I  could  get  the  yard  as  soon  as  possible.  From 
where  I  stood  I  could  see  that  Kennedy  was  closely 
watching  the  little  manicure,  Rae  Melzer.  A  mo- 
ment later  I  saw  Alma  Hillman  come  out  of  the 
manicure  shop,  and  before  any  one  else  could  get  in 
to  monopolize  the  fascinating  little  manicure  I  saw 
Craig  saunter  over  and  enter. 

I  was  so  interested  in  what  he  was  doing  that  for 
the  moment  I  forgot  about  my  call  and  found  my- 
self unconsciously  moving  over  in  that  direction, 
too.  As  I  looked  in  I  saw  that  he  was  seated  at  the 
little  white  table,  in  much  the  same  position  as  Mar- 
lowe had  been,  deeply  in  conversation  with  the  girl, 
though  of  course  I  could  not  make  out  what  they 
were  talking  about. 

262 


THE   SUBMARINE    MINE 

Once  she  turned  to  reach  something  on  a  shelf 
back  of  her.  Quick  as  a  flash  Kennedy  abstracted  a 
couple  of  the  nearest  implements,  one  being  a  nail 
file  and  the  other,  I  think,  a  brush.  A  moment 
later  she  resumed  her  work,  Kennedy  still  talking 
and  joking  with  her,  though  furtively  observing. 

"Where  is  my  nail  file — and  brush?"  I  could 
imagine  her  saying,  as  she  hunted  for  them  in  pretty 
confusion,  aided  by  Kennedy  who,  when  he  wanted 
to,  could  act  the  Fitzhugh  and  Gavira  as  well  as  they. 
The  implements  were  not  to  be  found  and  from  a 
drawer  she  took  another  set. 

Just  then  Gavira  passed  on  his  way  to  his  office  in 
the  front  of  the  building,  saw  me,  and  smiled.  ' '  Ken- 
nedy's cut  you  out,"  he  laughed,  catching  a  glimpse 
through  the  door.  "Never  mind.  I  used  to  think 
I  had  some  influence  there  myself — till  the  captain 
came  along.  I  tell  you  these  oldsters  can  give  us 
points." 

I  laughed,  too,  and  joined  him  down  the  hall,  not 
because  I  cared  what  he  thought,  but  because  his 
presence  had  reminded  me  of  my  original  mission  to 
call  up  Marlowe.  However,  I  decided  to  postpone 
calling  another  moment  and  take  advantage  of  the 
chance  to  talk  to  the  house  physician. 

"Yes,"  I  agreed,  as  long  as  he  had  opened  the 
subject.  "I  fancy  the  captain  likes  young  people. 
He  seems  to  enjoy  being  with  them — Miss  Hillman, 
for  instance." 

Gavira  shot  a  sidelong  glance  at  me.  "The 
Belleclaire's  a  dangerous  place  for  a  wealthy  wid- 
ower," he  returned.  "I  had  some  hopes  in  that 
direction  myself — in  spite  of  Fitzhugh — but  the 

263 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

captain  seems  to  leave  us  all  at  the  post.  Still,  I 
suppose  I  may  still  be  a  brother  to  her — and  phy- 
sician. So,  I  should  worry." 

The  impression  I  got  of  Gavira  was  that  he  en- 
joyed his  freedom  too  much  ever  to  fall  in  love, 
though  an  intimacy  now  and  then  with  a  clever  girl 
like  Alma  Hillman  was  a  welcome  diversion. 

"I'm  sorry  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  be  with  you  until 
late  to-night,"  he  said,  as  he  paused  at  his  office 
door.  "I'm  in  the  medical  corps  of  the  Guard  and 
I  promised  to  lecture  to-night  on  gunshot  wounds. 
Some  of  my  material  got  smashed  up,  but  I  have 
my  lantern  slides,  anyhow.  I'll  try  to  see  you  all 
later,  though." 

Was  that  a  clever  attempt  at  confession  and 
avoidance  on  his  part?  I  wondered.  But,  then,  I 
reflected  he  could  not  possibly  know  that  we  knew 
he  had  anaerobic  microbes  and  spores  in  his  posses- 
sion. I  had  cleared  up  nothing  and  I  hastened  to 
call  up  the  shipyard,  sure  that  the  line  could  not 
be  busy  still. 

Whatever  it  was  that  was  the  matter,  central 
seemed  unable  to  get  me  my  number.  Instead,  I 
found  myself  cut  right  into  a  conversation  that  did 
not  concern  me,  evidently  the  fault  of  the  hotel 
switchboard  operator.  I  was  about  to  protest  when 
the  words  I  heard  stopped  me  in  surprise.  A  man 
and  a  woman  were  talking,  though  I  could  not  recog- 
nize the  voices  and  no  names  were  used. 

"I  tell  you  I  won't  be  a  party  to  that  launching 
scheme , "  I  heard  the  man '  s  voice.  ' '  I  wash  my  hands 
of  it.  I  told  you  that  all  along." 

"Then  you're  going  to  desert  us?"  came  back  the 
264 


THE    SUBMARINE    MINE 

woman's  voice,  rather  tartly.  "It's  for  that  girl. 
Well,  you'll  regret  it.  I'll  turn  the  whole  organiza- 
tion on  you — I  will — you — you — "  The  voices 
trailed  off,  and,  try  as  I  could  to  get  the  operator  to 
find  out  who  it  was,  I  could  not. 

Who  was  it?    What  did  it  mean? 

Kennedy  had  finished  with  the  manicure  some 
time  before  and  was  waiting  for  me  impatiently. 

"I  haven't  been  able  to  get  Marlowe,"  I  hastened, 
"but  I've  had  an  earful."  He  listened  keenly  as  I 
told  him  what  I  had  heard,  adding  also  the  account 
of  my  encounter  with  Gavira. 

"It's  just  as  I  thought — I'll  wager,"  he  muttered, 
excitedly,  under  his  breath,  taking  a  hurried  turn 
down  the  corridor,  his  face  deeply  wrinkled. 

"Well!  Anything  new?  I  expected  to  hear  from 
you,  but  haven't,"  boomed  the  deep  voice  of  Mar- 
lowe, who  had  just  come  in  from  an  entrance  in 
another  direction  from  that  which  we  were  pacing. 
"No  clue  yet  to  my  crank?" 

Without  a  word,  Kennedy  drew  Marlowe  aside 
into  a  little  deserted  alcove.  Marlowe  followed, 
puzzled  at  the  air  of  mystery. 

Alone,  Craig  leaned  over  toward  him.  "It's  no 
crank,"  he  whispered,  in  a  low  tone.  "Marlowe,  I 
am  convinced  that  there  is  a  concerted  effort  to 
destroy  your  plans  for  American  commerce  building. 
There  isn't  the  slightest  doubt  in  my  mind  that  it  is 
more  serious  than  you  think — perhaps  a  powerful 
group  of  European  steamship  men  opposed  to  you. 
It  is  economic  war!  You  know  they  have  threatened 
it  at  meetings  reported  in  the  press  all  along.  Well, 

it's  here!" 

265 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

Half  doubting,  half  convinced,  Marlowe  drew 
back.  One  after  another  he  shot  a  rapid  fire  of 
questions.  Who,  then,  was  their  agent  who  had 
fired  the  shot?  Who  was  it  who  had  deserted,  as  I 
had  heard  over  the  wire?  Above  all,  what  was  it 
they  had  planned  for  the  launching?  The  deeper 
he  got  the  more  the  beads  of  perspiration  came  out 
on  his  sunburnt  forehead.  The  launching  was  only 
eighteen  hours  off,  too,  and  ten  of  them  were  dark- 
ness. What  could  be  done? 

Kennedy's  mind  was  working  rapidly  in  the  crisis 
as  Marlowe  appealed  to  him,  almost  helplessly. 

"May  I  have  your  car  to-night?"  asked  Craig, 
pausing. 

"Have  it?    I'll  give  it  to  you  if  it  '11  do  any  good." 

"I'll  need  it  only  a  few  hours.  I  think  I  have  a 
scheme  that  will  work  perfectly — if  you  are  sure  you 
can  guard  the  inside  of  the  yard  to-morrow." 

"I'm  sure  of  that.  We  spent  hours  to-day  select- 
ing picked  men  for  the  launching,  going  over  every- 
thing." 

Late  as  it  was  to  start  out  of  town,  Craig  drove 
across  the  bridge  and  out  on  Long  Island,  never 
stopping  until  we  came  to  a  small  lake,  around  the 
shores  of  which  he  skirted,  at  last  pausing  before  a 
huge  barn-like  structure. 

As  the  door  swung  open  to  his  honking  the  horn, 
the  light  which  streamed  forth  shone  on  a  sign 
above,  "Sprague  Aviation  School."  Inside  I  could 
make  out  enough  to  be  sure  that  it  was  an  aeroplane 
hangar. 

"Hello,  Sprague!"  called  Kennedy,  as  a  man  ap- 
peared in  the  light. 

266 


THE    SUBMARINE   MINE 

The  man  came  closer.  "Why,  hello,  Kennedy! 
What  brings  you  out  here  at  such  an  hour?" 

Craig  had  jumped  from  the  car,  and  together  the 
two  went  into  the  hangar,  while  I  followed.  They 
talked  in  low  tones,  but  as  nearly  as  I  could  make 
out  Kennedy  was  hiring  a  hydro-aeroplane  for  to- 
morrow with  as  much  nonchalance  as  if  it  had  been 
a  taxicab. 

As  Kennedy  and  his  acquaintance,  Sprague,  came 
to  terms,  my  eye  fell  on  a  peculiar  gun  set  up  in  a 
corner.  It  had  a  tremendous  cylinder  about  the 
barrel,  as  though  it  contained  some  device  to  cool  it. 
It  was  not  a  machine-gun  of  the  type  I  had  seen, 
however,  yet  cartridges  seemed  to  be  fed  to  it  from 
a  disk  on  which  they  were  arranged  radially  rather 
than  from  a  band.  Kennedy  had  risen  to  go  and 
looked  about  at  me. 

"Oh,  a  Lewis  gun!"  he  exclaimed,  seeing  what  I 
was  looking  at.  "That's  an  idea.  Sprague,  can  you 
mount  that  on  the  plane?" 

Sprague  nodded.  "That's  what  I  have  it  here 
for,"  he  returned.  "I've  been  testing  it.  Why,  do 
you  want  it?" 

"Indeed  I  do!  I'll  be  out  here  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, Sprague." 

"I'll  be  ready  for  you,  sir,"  promised  the  aviator. 

Speeding  back  to  the  city,  Kennedy  laid  out  an 
extensive  program  for  me  to  follow  on  the  morrow. 
Together  we  arranged  an  elaborate  series  of  signals, 
and  that  night,  late  as  it  was,  Craig  returned  to  the 
laboratory,  where  he  continued  his  studies  with  the 
microscope,  though  what  more  he  expected  to  dis- 
cover I  did  not  know. 

267 


THE    TREASURE-TRAIN 

In  spite  of  his  late  hours,  it  was  Craig  who  wakened 
me  in  the  morning,  already  prepared  to  motor  out 
to  the  aviation  school  to  meet  Sprague.  Hastily  he 
rehearsed  our  signals,  which  consisted  mostly  of 
dots  and  dashes  in  the  Morse  code  which  Craig  was 
to  convey  with  a  flag  and  I  to  receive  with  the  aid 
of  a  powerful  glass. 

I  must  admit  that  I  felt  somewhat  lost  when, 
later  in  the  morning,  I  took  my  place  alone  on  the 
platform  that  had  been  built  for  the  favored  few  of 
the  launching  party  at  the  bow  of  the  huge  Usona, 
without  Craig.  Already,  however,  he  had  communi- 
cated at  least  a  part  of  his  plan  to  Marlowe,  and  the 
captain  and  Marjorie  were  among  the  first  to  arrive. 
Marjorie  never  looked  prettier  in  her  life  than  she 
did  now,  on  the  day  when  she  was  to  christen  the 
great  liner,  nor,  I  imagine,  had  the  captain  ever 
been  more  proud  of  her. 

They  had  scarcely  greeted  me  when  we  heard  a 
shout  from  the  men  down  at  the  end  of  the  slip  that 
commanded  a  freer  view  of  the  river.  We  craned 
our  necks  and  in  a  moment  saw  what  it  was.  They 
had  sighted  the  air-boat  coming  down  the  river. 

I  turned  the  glass  on  the  mechanical  bird  as  it 
soared  closer.  Already  Kennedy  had  made  us  on 
the  platform  and  had  begun  to  signal  as  a  test.  At 
least  a  part  of  the  suspense  was  over  for  me  when  I 
discovered  that  I  could  read  what  he  sent. 

So  fixed  had  my  attention  been  that  I  had  not 
noticed  that  slowly  the  members  of  the  elect  launch- 
ing party  had  arrived,  while  other  thousands  of  the 
less  favored  crowded  into  the  spaces  set  apart  for 
them.  On  the  stand  now  with  us  were  Fitzhugh  and 

268 


THE    SUBMARINE    MINE 

Miss  Hillman,  while,  between  glances  at  Kennedy,  I 
noticed  little  Rae  Melzer  over  at  the  right,  and 
Doctor  Gavira,  quite  in  his  element,  circulating 
about  from  one  group  to  another. 

Every  one  seemed  to  feel  that  thrill  that  comes 
with  a  launching,  the  appreciation  that  there  is  a 
maximum  of  risk  in  a  minimum  of  time. 

Down  the  slip  the  men  were  driving  home  the 
last  of  the  huge  oak  wedges  which  lifted  the  great 
Usona  from  the  blocks  and  transferred  her  weight 
to  the  launching  ways  as  a  new  support.  All  along 
the  stationary,  or  ground,  ways  and  those  which  were 
to  glide  into  the  water  with  the  cradle  and  the 
ship,  trusted  men  were  making  the  final  examination 
to  be  as  sure  as  human  care  can  be  that  all  was  well. 

As  the  clock  neared  noon,  which  was  high  water, 
approximately,  all  the  preparatory  work  was  done. 
Only  the  sole  pieces  before  us  held  the  ship  in  place. 
It  was  as  though  all  bridges  had  been  burned. 

High  overhead  now  floated  the  hydro-aeroplane, 
on  which  I  kept  my  eye  fixed  almost  hypnotically. 
There  was  still  no  signal  from  Kennedy,  however. 
What  was  it  he  was  after?  Did  he  expect  to  see  the 
fast  express  cruiser,  lurking  like  a  corsair  about  the 
islands  of  the  river?  If  so,  he  gave  no  sign. 

Men  were  quitting  now  the  work  of  giving  the  last 
touches  to  the  preparations.  Some  were  placing 
immense  jack-screws  which  were  to  give  an  initial 
impulse  if  it  were  needed  to  start  the  ship  down  the 
ways.  Others  were  smearing  the  last  heavy  dabs  of 
tallow,  lard  oil,  and  soft  soap  on  the  ways,  and 
graphite  where  the  ways  stretched  two  hundred  feet 
or  so  out  into  the  water,  for  the  ship  was  to  travel 

269 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

some  hundreds  of  feet  on  the  land  and  in  the  water, 
and  perhaps  an  equal  distance  out  beyond  the  end 
of  the  ways. 

Late  comers  still  crowded  in.  Men  now  reported 
that  everything  was  ready.  Steadily  the  time  of 
high  water  approached. 

"Saw  the  sole  pieces!"  finally  rang  out  the 
order. 

That  was  a  thing  that  must  be  done  by  two  gangs, 
one  on  each  side,  and  evenly,  too.  If  one  gang  got 
ahead  of  the  other,  they  must  stop  and  let  the 
second  catch  up. 

"Zip — zip — zip,"  came  the  shrill  singing  tone  of 
the  saws. 

Was  everything  all  right?  Kennedy  and  Sprague 
were  still  circling  overhead,  at  various  altitudes. 
I  redoubled  my  attention  at  the  glass. 

Suddenly  I  saw  Craig's  flag  waving  frantically. 
A  muffled  exclamation  came  from  my  lips  involun- 
tarily. Marlowe,  who  had  been  watching  me,  leaned 
closer. 

"What  is  it — for  God's  sake?"  he  whispered, 
hoarsely. 

"Stop  them!"  I  shouted  as  I  caught  Kennedy's 
signal.  At  a  hurried  order  from  Marlowe  the  gangs 
quit.  A  hush  fell  over  the  crowd. 

Kennedy  was  circling  down  now  until  at  last  the 
air-boat  rested  on  the  water  and  skimmed  along 
toward  the  ways. 

Out  on  the  ways,  as  far  as  they  were  not  yet  sub- 
merged, some  men  ran,  as  if  to  meet  him,  but  Kennedy 
began  signaling  frantically  again.  Though  I  had 
not  been  expecting  it,  I  made  it  out. 

270 


THE    SUBMARINE    MINE 

"He  wants  them  to  keep  back,"  I  called,  and  the 
word  was  passed  down  the  length  of  the  ship. 

Instead  of  coming  to  rest  before  the  slip,  the  plane 
turned  and  went  away,  making  a  complete  circle, 
then  coming  to  rest.  To  the  surprise  of  every  one, 
the  rapid  staccato  bark  of  the  Lewis  gun  broke  the 
silence.  Kennedy  was  evidently  firing,  but  at  what  ? 
There  was  nothing  in  sight. 

Suddenly  there  came  a  tremendous  detonation, 
which  made  even  the  launching-slip  tremble,  and  a 
huge  column  of  water,  like  a  geyser,  rose  in  the  air 
about  eight  hundred  feet  out  in  the  river,  directly 
in  front  of  us. 

The  truth  flashed  over  us  in  an  instant.  There, 
ten  feet  or  so  in  the  dark  water  out  in  the  river, 
Craig  had  seen  a  huge  circular  object,  visible  only 
against  a  sandy  bottom  from  the  hydro-aeroplane 
above,  as  the  sun-rays  were  reflected  through  the 
water.  It  was  a  contact  submarine  mine. 

Marlowe  looked  at  me,  his  face  almost  pale.  The 
moment  the  great  hulk  of  the  Usona  in  its  wild  flight 
to  the  sea  would  have  hit  that  mine,  tilting  it,  she 
would  have  sunk  in  a  blast  of  flame. 

The  air-boat  now  headed  for  the  shore,  and  a  few 
moments  later,  as  Craig  climbed  into  our  stand, 
Marlowe  seized  him  in  congratulation  too  deep  for 
words. 

"Is  it  all  right?"  sang  out  one  of  the  men  in  the 
gangs,  less  impressionable  than  the  rest. 

"If  there  is  still  water  enough,"  nodded  Craig. 

Again  the  order  to  saw  away  the  sole  pieces  was 
given,  and  the  gangs  resumed.  "Zip — zip,"  again 

went  the  two  saws. 

271 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

There  were  perhaps  two  inches  more  left,  when 
the  hull  quivered.  There  was  a  crashing  and  rending 
as  the  timbers  broke  away. 

Marjorie  Marlowe,  alert,  swung  the  bottle  of 
champagne  in  its  silken  net  on  a  silken  cord  and  it 
crashed  on  the  bow  as  she  cried,  gleefully,  "I  christen 
thee  Usona!" 

Down  the  ship  slid,  with  a  slow,  gliding  motion  at 
first,  rapidly  gathering  headway.  As  her  stern  sank 
and  finally  the  bow  dipped  into  the  water,  cheers 
broke  forth.  Then  a  cloud  of  smoke  hid  her.  There 
was  an  ominous  silence.  Was  she  wrecked,  at  last, 
after  all  ?  A  puff  of  wind  cleared  the  smoke. 

"Just  the  friction  of  the  ways — set  the  grease  on 
fire,"  shouted  Marlowe.  "It  always  does  that." 

Wedges,  sliding  ways,  and  other  parts  of  the  cradle 
floated  to  the  surface.  The  tide  took  her  and  tugs 
crept  up  and  pulled  her  to  the  place  selected  for 
temporary  mooring.  A  splash  of  a  huge  anchor,  and 
there  she  rode — safe! 

In  the  revulsion  of  feeling,  every  eye  on  the  plat- 
form turned  involuntarily  to  Kennedy.  Marlowe, 
still  holding  his  hand,  was  speechless.  Marjorie 
leaned  forward,  almost  hysterical. 

"Just  a  moment,"  called  Craig,  as  some  turned  to 
go  down.  "There  is  just  one  thing  more." 

There  was  a  hush  as  the  crowd  pressed  close. 

"There's  a  conspiracy  here,"  rang  out  Craig's 
voice,  boldly,  "a  foreign  trade  war.  From  the  start 
I  suspected  something  and  I  tried  to  reason  it  out. 
Having  failed  to  stop  the  work,  failed  to  kill  Marlowe 
— what  was  left?  Why,  the  launching.  How?  I 
knew  of  that  motor-boat.  What  else  could  they  do 

272 


THE    SUBMARINE    MINE 

with  it?  I  thought  of  recent  tests  that  have  been 
made  with  express  cruisers  as  mine-planters.  Could 
that  be  the  scheme?  The  air-boat  scheme  occurred 
to  me  late  last  night.  It  at  least  was  worth  trying. 
You  see  what  has  happened.  Now  for  the  reckoning. 
Who  was  their  agent?  I  have  something  here  that 
will  interest  you." 

Kennedy  was  speaking  rapidly.  It  was  one  of 
those  occasions  in  which  Kennedy's  soul  delighted. 
Quickly  he  drew  a  deft  contrast  between  the  infinitely 
large  hulk  of  the  Usona  as  compared  to  the  infinitely 
small  bacteria  which  he  had  been  studying  the  day 
before.  Suddenly  he  drew  forth  from  his  pocket  the 
bullet  that  had  been  fired  at  Marlowe,  then,  to  the 
surprise  of  even  myself,  he  quietly  laid  a  delicate 
little  nail  file  and  brush  in  the  palm  of  his  hand  be- 
side the  bullet. 

A  suppressed  cry  from  Rae  Melzer  caused  me  to 
recollect  the  file  and  brush  she  had  missed. 

"Just  a  second,"  raced  on  Kennedy.  "On  this 
file  and  brush  I  found  spores  of  those  deadly  an- 
aerobes— dead,  killed  by  heat  and  an  antiseptic, 
perhaps  a  one-per-cent.  solution  of  carbolic  acid  at 
blood  heat,  ninety-eight  degrees — dead,  but  never- 
theless there.  I  suppose  the  microscopic  examina- 
tion of  finger-nail  deposits  is  too  minute  a  thing  to 
appeal  to  most  people.  But  it  has  been  practically 
applied  in  a  number  of  criminal  cases  in  Europe.  Or- 
dinary washing  and  even  cleaning  doesn't  alter 
microscope  findings.  In  this  case  this  trifling  clue 
is  all  that  leads  to  the  real  brain  of  this  plot, 
literally  to  the  hand  that  directed  it."  He  paused 
a  moment. 

273 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

"Yesterday  I  found  that  anaerobe  cultures  were 
being  received  by  some  one  in  the  Belleclaire,  and — " 

"They  were  stolen  from  me.  Some  one  must  have 
got  into  my  office,  where  I  was  studying  them." 
Doctor  Gavira  had  pressed  forward  earnestly,  but 
Craig  did  not  pause  again. 

"Who  were  these  agents  sent  over  to  wage  this 
secret  war  at  any  cost  ?"  he  repeated.  "One  of  them, 
I  know  now,  fell  in  love  with  the  daughter  of  the 
man  against  whom  he  was  to  plot."  Marjorie  cast 
a  furtive  glance  at  Fitzhugh. 

"Love  has  saved  him.  But  the  other?  To  whom 
do  these  deadly  germs  point?  Who  dum-dummed 
and  poisoned  the  bullet  ?  Whose  own  fingers,  in  spite 
of  antiseptics  and  manicures,  point  inexorably  to  a 
guilty  self?" 

Rae  Melzer  could  restrain  herself  no  longer.  She 
was  looking  at  the  file  and  brush,  as  if  with  a  hideous 
fascination.  "They  are  mine — you  took  them,"  she 
cried,  impulsively.  ' '  It  was  she — always  having  her 
nails  manicured — she  who  had  been  there  just  be- 
fore— she — Alma  Hillman!" 


XI 

THE   GUN-RUNNER 

WITH  the  treaty  ratified,  if  the  deal  goes 
through  we'll  all  be  rich." 

Something  about  the  remark  which  rose  over  the 
babel  of  voices  arrested  Kennedy's  attention.  For 
one  thing,  it  was  a  woman's  voice,  and  it  was  not  the 
sort  of  remark  to  be  expected  from  a  woman,  at 
least  not  in  such  a  place. 

Craig  had  been  working  pretty  hard  and  began  to 
show  the  strain.  We  had  taken  an  evening  off  and 
now  had  dropped  in  after  the  theater  at  the  Burridge, 
one  of  the  most  frequented  midnight  resorts  on 
Broadway. 

At  the  table  next  to  us — and  the  tables  at  the 
Burridge  were  so  close  that  one  almost  rubbed  elbows 
with  those  at  the  next — sat  a  party  of  four,  two 
ladies  in  evening  gowns  and  two  men  in  immaculate 
black  and  white. 

"I  hope  you  are  right,  Leontine,"  returned  one  of 
the  men,  with  an  English  accent.  "The  natural  place 
for  the  islands  is  under  the  American  flag,  anyway." 

"Yes,"  put  in  the  other;  "the  people  have  voted 
for  it  before.  They  want  it." 

It  was  at  the  time  that  the  American  and 
Danish  governments  were  negotiating  about  the 

275 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

transfer  of  the  Danish  West  Indies,  and  quite  evi- 
dently they  were  discussing  the  islands.  The  last 
speaker  seemed  to  be  a  Dane,  but  the  woman  with 
him,  evidently  his  wife,  was  not.  It  was  a  curious 
group,  worth  more  than  a  passing  glance.  For  a 
moment  Craig  watched  them  closely. 

"That  woman  in  blue,"  he  whispered,  "is  a  typical 
promoter." 

I  recognized  the  type  which  is  becoming  increas- 
ingly frequent  in  Wall  Street  as  the  competition  in 
financial  affairs  grows  keener  and  women  enter 
business  and  professional  life. 

There  were  plenty  of  other  types  in  the  brilliantly 
lighted  dining-room,  and  we  did  not  dwell  long  on 
the  study  of  our  neighbors.  A  few  moments  later 
Kennedy  left  me  and  was  visiting  another  table.  It 
was  a  habit  of  his,  for  he  had  hundreds  of  friends  and 
acquaintances,  and  the  Burridge  was  the  place  to 
which  every  one  came. 

This  time  I  saw  that  he  had  stopped  before  some 
one  whom  I  recognized.  It  was  Captain  Marlowe 
of  the  American  Shipping  Trust,  to  whom  Kennedy 
had  been  of  great  assistance  at  the  time  of  the  launch- 
ing of  his  great  ship,  the  Usona.  Marlowe's  daughter 
Marjorie  was  not  with  him,  having  not  yet  returned 
from  her  honeymoon  trip,  and  he  was  accompanied 
by  a  man  whose  face  was  unfamiliar  to  me. 

As  I  recognized  who  it  was  to  whom  Kennedy  was 
speaking,  I  also  rose  and  made  my  way  over  to  the 
table.  As  I  approached,  the  captain  turned  from 
Kennedy  and  greeted  me  cordially. 

"Mr.  Whitson,"  he  introduced  the  man  with  him. 
"Mr.  Whitson  is  sailing  to-morrow  for  St.  Thomas 

276 


THE    GUN-RUNNER 

on  the  Arroyo.  We're  preparing  to  extend  our 
steamship  lines  to  the  islands  as  soon  as  the  formali- 
ties of  the  purchase  are  completed." 

Marlowe  turned  again  to  Kennedy  and  went  on 
with  the  remark  he  had  evidently  been  making. 

"Of  course,"  I  heard  him  say,  "you  know  we  have 
Mexico  practically  blockaded  as  far  as  arms  and 
munitions  go.  Yet,  Kennedy,  through  a  secret 
channel  I  know  that  thousands  of  stands  of  arms 
and  millions  of  rounds  of  ammunition  are  filtering 
in  there.  It's  shameful.  I  can't  imagine  anything 
more  traitorous.  Whoever  is  at  the  bottom  of  it 
ought  to  swing.  It  isn't  over  the  border  that  they 
are  going.  We  know  that.  The  troops  are  there. 
How  is  it,  then?" 

Marlowe  looked  at  us  as  if  he  expected  Kennedy 
to  catch  some  one  by  pure  reason.  Kennedy  said 
nothing,  but  it  was  not  because  he  was  not  interested. 

"Think  it  over,"  pursued  Marlowe,  who  was  a 
patriot  above  everything  else.  "Perhaps  it  will 
occur  to  you  how  you  can  be  of  the  greatest  service  to 
the  country.  The  thing  is  damnable — damnable." 

Neither  Kennedy  nor  I  having  anything  definite 
to  contribute  to  the  subject,  the  conversation  drifted 
to  the  islands  and  Whitson's  mission.  Whitson 
proved  to  be  very  enthusiastic  about  it.  He  knew 
the  islands  well  and  had  already  made  a  trip  there 
for  Marlowe. 

A  few  moments  later  we  shook  hands  and  returned 
to  our  own  table.  It  was  getting  late  and  the  only 
type  that  was  left  to  study  was  the  common  Broad- 
way midnight-life  genus.  We  paid  our  check  and 
were  about  to  leave.  For  an  instant  we  stopped  at 

19  277 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

the  coat-room  to  watch  the  late  arrivals  and  the 
departing  throng. 

' '  Hello !"  greeted  a  familiar  voice  beside  us.  ' '  I've 
been  looking  all  over  town  for  you.  They  told  me 
you  had  gone  to  the  theater  and  I  thought  I  might 
possibly  find  you  here." 

We  turned.  It  was  our  old  friend  Burke,  of  the 
Secret  Service,  accompanied  by  a  stranger. 

"I'd  like  you  to  meet  Mr.  Sydney,  the  new  special 
consular  agent  whom  the  government  is  sending  to 
the  Danish  West  Indies  to  investigate  and  report 
on  trade  conditions,"  he  introduced.  "We're  off 
for  St.  Thomas  on  the  Arroyo,  which  sails  to-morrow 
noon." 

"Great  Scott!"  ejaculated  Kennedy.  "Is  every- 
body daffy  over  those  little  islands?  What  takes 
you  down  there,  Burke?"  Burke  looked  about 
hastily,  then  drew  us  aside  into  a  recess  in  the  lobby. 

"I  don't  suppose  you  know,"  he  explained,  lower- 
ing his  voice,  "but  since  these  negotiations  began, 
the  consular  service  has  been  keenly  interested  in 
the  present  state  and  the  possibilities  of  the  islands. 
The  government  sent  one  special  agent  there,  named 
Dwight.  Well,  he  died  a  few  days  ago.  It  was  very 
suspicious,  so  much  so  that  the  authorities  in  the 
island  investigated.  Yet  the  doctors  in  the  island 
have  found  no  evidence  of  anything  wrong,  no 
poison.  Still,  it  is  very  mysterious — and,  you  know, ' ' 
he  hinted,  "there  are  those  who  don't  want  us  down 
there." 

The  Secret  Service  man  paused  as  though  he  had 
put  the  case  as  briefly  and  pointedly  as  he  could, 
then  went  on:  "I've  been  assigned  to  accompany 

278 


THE    GUN-RUNNER 

the  new  consul  down  there  and  investigate.  I've 
no  particular  orders  and  the  chief  will  honor  any 
reasonable  expense  account — but — "  He  hesitated 
and  stopped,  looking  keenly  at  Kennedy's  face.  I 
saw  what  he  was  driving  at. 

"Well — to  come  to  the  point — what  I  wanted  to 
see  you  about,  Kennedy,  is  to  find  out  whether  you 
would  go  with  me.  I  think,"  he  added,  persuasively, 
"it  would  be  quite  worth  your  while.  Besides,  you 
look  tired.  You're  working  too  hard.  The  change 
will  do  you  good.  And  your  conscience  needn't 
trouble  you.  You'll  be  working,  all  right." 

Burke  had  been  quick  to  note  the  haggard  expres- 
sion on  Kennedy's  face  and  turn  it  into  an  argument 
to  carry  his  point.  Kennedy  smiled  as  he  read  the 
other's  enthusiasm.  I  would  have  added  my  own 
urging,  only  I  knew  that  nothing  but  a  sense  of  duty 
would  weigh  with  Craig. 

"I'd  like  to  think  the  proposal  over,"  he  conceded, 
much  to  my  surprise.  "I'll  let  you  know  in  the 
morning." 

"Mind,"  wheedled  Burke,  "I  won't  take  no  for  an 
answer.  We  need  you." 

The  Secret  Service  man  was  evidently  delighted 
by  the  reception  Kennedy  had  given  his  scheme. 

Just  then  I  caught  sight  of  the  party  of  four  getting 
their  hats  and  wraps  preparatory  to  leaving,  and 
Kennedy  eyed  them  sharply. 

Marlowe  and  Whitson  passed.  As  they  did  so  I 
could  not  help  seeing  Whitson  pause  and  shoot  a 
quick  glance  at  the  four.  It  was  a  glance  of  suspicion 
and  it  was  not  lost  on  Craig.  Did  they  know  more 
of  this  Mexican  gun-running  business  than  Marlowe 

279 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

had  hinted  at?  I  watched  Kennedy's  face.  Evi- 
dently his  mind  was  at  work  on  the  same  idea  as 
mine. 

Burke  accompanied  us  almost  all  the  way  home, 
with  Sydney  adding  his  urging.  I  could  tell  that  the 
whole  combination  of  circumstances  at  the  Burridge 
had  had  an  effect  on  Kennedy. 

I  went  to  bed,  tired,  but  through  the  night  I  knew 
Craig  was  engaged  on  some  work  about  which  he 
seemed  to  be  somewhat  secretive.  When  I  saw  him 
again  in  the  laboratory,  in  the  morning,  he  had 
before  him  a  large  packing-case  of  stout  wood  bound 
with  steel  bands. 

"What's  that?"  I  asked,  mystified.  He  opened 
the  lid,  a  sort  of  door,  on  which  was  a  strong  lock, 
and  I  looked  inside. 

"My  traveling  laboratory,"  he  remarked,  with 
pride. 

I  peered  in  more  closely.  It  was  a  well-stocked 
armamentarium,  as  the  doctors  would  have  called 
it.  I  shall  not  make  any  attempt  to  describe  its 
contents.  They  were  too  varied  and  too  numerous, 
a  little  bit  of  everything,  it  seemed.  In  fact,  Craig 
seemed  to  have  epitomized  the  sciences  and  arts. 
It  was  not  that  he  had  anything  so  wonderful,  or 
even  comparable  to  the  collection  of  his  laboratory. 
But  as  I  ran  my  eye  over  the  box  I  would  have 
wagered  that  from  the  contents  he  might  have  made 
shift  to  duplicate  in  some  makeshift  form  almost 
anything  that  he  might  need.  It  was  truly  amazing, 
representing  in  miniature  his  study  of  crime  for  years. 

"Then  you  are  going  with  Burke  to  St.  Thomas?" 
I  queried,  realizing  the  significance  of  it. 

280 


THE    GUN-RUNNER 

Kennedy  nodded.  "I've  been  thinking  of  what  I 
would  do  if  an  important  case  ever  called  me  away. 
Burke's  proposal  hurried  me,  that's  all.  And  you 
are  going,  also,"  he  added.  "You  have  until  noon 
to  break  the  news  to  the  Star." 

I  did  not  say  anything  more,  fearful  lest  he  might 
change  his  mind.  I  knew  he  needed  the  rest,  and 
that  no  matter  what  the  case  was  in  the  islands  he 
could  not  work  as  hard  as  he  was  doing  in  New 
York. 

Accordingly  my  own  arrangements  with  the  Star 
were  easily  made.  I  had  a  sort  of  roving  commission, 
anyhow,  since  my  close  association  with  Kennedy. 
Moreover,  the  possibility  of  turning  up  something 
good  in  the  islands,  which  were  much  in  the  news 
at  the  time,  rather  appealed  to  the  managing  editor. 
If  Kennedy  could  arrange  his  affairs,  I  felt  that  the 
least  I  could  do  was  to  arrange  my  own. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  Craig  and  I  found  our- 
selves in  the  forenoon  in  a  taxicab,  on  the  front  of 
which  was  loaded  the  precious  box  as  well  as  our 
other  hastily  packed  luggage,  and  we  were  on  our 
way  over  to  Brooklyn  to  the  dock  from  which  the 
Arroyo  sailed. 

Already  the  clearance  papers  had  been  obtained, 
and  there  was  the  usual  last-moment  confusion 
among  the  passengers  as  the  hour  for  sailing  ap- 
proached. It  seemed  as  if  we  had  scarcely  boarded 
the  ship  when  Kennedy  was  as  gay  as  a  school-boy 
on  an  unexpected  holiday.  I  realized  at  once  what 
was  the  cause.  The  change  of  scene,  the  mere  fact 
of  cutting  loose,  were  having  their  effect. 

As  we  steamed  slowly  down  the  bay,  I  ran  my  eye 
281 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

over  the  other  passengers  at  the  rail,  straining  their 
eyes  to  catch  the  last  glimpse  of  the  towers  of  New 
York.  There  were  Burke  and  Sydney,  but  they 
were  not  together,  and,  to  all  appearances,  did  not 
know  each  other.  Sydney,  of  course,  could  not  con- 
ceal his  identity,  nor  did  he  wish  to,  no  matter  how 
beset  with  unseen  perils  might  be  his  mission.  But 
Burke  was  down  on  the  passenger-list  as,  and  had 
assumed  the  r61e  of,  a  traveling  salesman  for  a  myth- 
ical novelty-house  in  Chicago.  That  evidently  was 
part  of  the  plan  they  had  agreed  on  between  them- 
selves. Kennedy  took  the  cue. 

As  I  studied  the  various  groups,  I  paused  sud- 
denly, surprised.  There  was  the  party  which  had 
sat  at  the  table  next  to  us  at  the  Burridge  the 
night  before.  Kennedy  had  already  seen  them  and 
had  been  watching  them  furtively. 

Just  then  Craig  jogged  my  elbow.  He  had  caught 
sight  of  Whitson  edging  his  way  in  our  direction. 
I  saw  what  it  was  that  Craig  meant.  He  wanted 
purposely  to  avoid  him.  I  wondered  why,  but  soon 
I  saw  what  he  was  up  to.  He  wanted  introductions 
to  come  about  naturally,  as  they  do  on  shipboard  if 
one  only  waits. 

On  deck  and  in  the  lounging  and  smoking  rooms 
it  did  not  take  long  for  him  to  contrive  ways  of 
meeting  and  getting  acquainted  with  those  he  wished 
to  know,  without  exciting  suspicion.  Thus,  by  the 
time  we  sat  down  to  dinner  in  the  saloon  we  were 
all  getting  fairly  chummy. 

We  had  met  Burke  quite  as  naturally  as  if  we 
were  total  strangers.  It  was  easy  to  make  it  appear 
that  Whitson  and  Sydney  were  shipboard  ac- 

282 


THE   GUN-RUNNER 

quaintances.  Nor  was  it  difficult  to  secure  an  intro- 
duction to  the  other  party  of  four.  The  girl  whom 
we  had  heard  addressed  as  Leontine  seemed  to  be 
the  leader  of  the  group.  Leontine  Cowell  was  a 
striking  personality.  Her  clear  blue  eyes  directed  a 
gaze  at  one  which  tested  one's  mettle  to  meet.  I 
was  never  quite  sure  whether  she  remembered  seeing 
us  at  the  Burridge,  whether  she  penetrated  the  parts 
we  were  playing.  She  was  none  the  less  feminine 
because  she  had  aspirations  in  a  commercial  way. 
As  Kennedy  had  first  observed,  she  was  well  worth 
study. 

Her  companion,  Barrett  Burleigh,  was  a  polished, 
deferential  Englishman,  one  of  those  who  seem  to 
be  citizens  of  the  world  rather  than  subjects  of  any 
particular  country.  I  wondered  what  were  the  real 
relations  of  the  two. 

Jorgen  Erickson  was,  as  I  had  surmised,  a  Dane. 
He  proved  to  be  one  of  the  largest  planters  in  the 
island,  already  wealthy  and  destined  to  be  wealthier 
if  real  estate  advanced.  The  other  woman,  Nanette, 
was  his  wife.  She  was  also  a  peculiarly  interesting 
type,  a  Frenchwoman  from  Guadeloupe.  Younger 
and  more  vivacious  than  her  husband,  her  snappy 
black  eyes  betokened  an  attractive  personality. 

Leontine  Cowell,  it  seemed,  had  been  in  the  islands 
not  long  before,  had  secured  options  on  some  score 
of  plantations  at  a  low  figure,  and  made  no  secret  of 
her  business.  When  the  American  flag  at  last  flew 
over  the  islands  she  stood  to  win  out  of  the  increase 
of  land  values  a  considerable  fortune. 

Erickson  also,  in  addition  to  his  own  holdings, 
had  been  an  agent  for  some  other  planters  and  thus 

283 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

had  met  Leontine,  who  had  been  the  means  of 
interesting  some  American  capital. 

As  for  Burleigh,  it  seemed  that  he  had  made  the 
acquaintance  of  Leontine  in  Wall  Street.  He  had 
been  in  the  Caribbean  and  the  impending  changes  in 
the  Danish  West  Indies  had  attracted  his  notice. 
Whether  he  had  some  money  to  invest  in  the  specu- 
lation or  hoped  to  profit  by  commissions  derived 
from  sales  did  not  appear.  But  at  any  rate  some 
common  bond  had  thrown  the  quartet  together. 

I  need  not  dwell  on  the  little  incidents  of  life  on 
ship.  It  must  have  been  the  second  day  out  that  I 
observed  Leontine  and  Sydney  together  on  the 
promenade-deck.  They  seemed  to  be  quite  interested 
in  each  other,  though  I  felt  sure  that  Leontine  was 
making  a  play  for  him.  At  any  rate,  Burleigh  was 
jealous.  Whatever  might  be  the  scheme,  it  was  ap- 
parent that  the  young  Englishman  was  head  over 
heels  in  love  with  her. 

What  did  it  mean  ?  Was  she  playing  with  Sydney, 
seeking  to  secure  his  influence  to  further  her  schemes  ? 
Or  did  it  mask  some  deeper,  more  sinister  motive? 
From  what  I  had  seen  of  Sydney,  I  could  not  think 
that  he  was  the  man  to  take  such  an  affair  seriously. 
I  felt  that  he  must  be  merely  amusing  himself. 

Busy  with  my  speculations,  I  was  astonished  soon 
after  to  realize  that  the  triangle  had  become  a 
hexagon,  so  to  speak.  Whitson  and  Nanette  Erick- 
son  seemed  to  be  much  in  each  other's  company. 
But,  unlike  Burleigh,  Erickson  seemed  to  be  either 
oblivious  or  complacent. 

Whatever  it  might  all  portend,  I  found  that  it 
did  not  worry  Kennedy,  although  he  observed  closely. 

284 


THE   GUN-RUNNER 

Burke,  however,  was  considerably  excited  and  even 
went  so  far  as  to  speak  to  Sydney,  over  whom  he  felt 
a  sort  of  guardianship.  Sydney  turned  the  matter 
off  lightly.  As  for  me,  I  determined  to  watch  both 
of  these  women  closely. 

Kennedy  spent  much  time  not  only  in  watching 
the  passengers,  but  in  going  about  the  ship,  talking 
to  the  captain  and  crew  and  every  one  who  knew 
anything  about  the  islands.  In  fact,  he  collected 
enough  information  in  a  few  days  to  have  satisfied 
any  ordinary  tourist  for  weeks. 

Even  the  cargo  did  not  escape  his  attention,  and  I 
found  that  he  was  especially  interested  in  the  rather 
heavy  shipments  of  agricultural  implements  that 
were  consigned  to  various  planters  in  the  islands. 
So  great  was  his  interest  that  I  began  to  suspect 
that  it  had  some  bearing  on  the  gun-running  plot 
that  had  been  hinted  at  by  Marlowe. 

It  was  the  evening  after  one  of  Kennedy's  busy 
days  scouting  about  that  he  quietly  summoned  both 
Burke  and  Sydney  to  our  cabin. 

"There's  something  queer  going  on,"  announced 
Craig,  when  he  was  sure  that  we  were  all  together 
without  having  been  observed.  "Frankly,  I  must 
confess  that  I  don't  understand  it — yet." 

"You  needn't  worry  about  me,"  interrupted 
Sydney,  hastily.  "I  can  take  care  of  myself." 

Kennedy  smiled  quietly.  We  knew  what  Sydney 
meant.  He  seemed  to  resent  Burke 's  solicitude  over 
his  acquaintance  with  Leontine  and  was  evidently 
warning  us  off.  Kennedy,  however,  avoided  the 
subject. 

"I  may  as  well  tell  you,"  he  resumed,  "that  I 
285 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

was  quite  as  much  influenced  by  a  rumor  that  arms 
were  somehow  getting  into  Mexican  ports  as  I  was 
by  your  appeal,  Burke,  in  coming  down  here.  So  far 
I've  found  nothing  that  proves  my  case.  But,  as  I 
said,  there  is  something  under  the  surface  which  I 
don't  understand.  We  have  all  got  to  stick  together, 
trust  no  one  but  ourselves,  and,  above  all,  keep  our 
eyes  open." 

It  was  all  that  was  said,  but  I  was  relieved  to  note 
that  Sydney  seemed  greatly  impressed.  Still,  half 
an  hour  later,  I  saw  him  sitting  in  a  steamer-chair 
beside  Leontine  again,  watching  the  beautiful  play 
of  the  moonlight  on  the  now  almost  tropical  ocean 
after  we  had  emerged  from  the  Gulf  Stream.  I  felt 
that  it  was  rather  dangerous,  but  at  least  he  had  had 
his  warning. 

Seeking  Kennedy,  I  found  him  at  last  in  the  smok- 
ing-room, to  my  surprise  talking  with  Erickson.  I 
joined  them,  wondering  how  I  was  to  convey  to 
Craig  what  I  had  just  seen  without  exciting  sus- 
picion. They  were  discussing  the  commercial  and 
agricultural  future  of  the  islands  under  the  American 
flag,  especially  the  sugar  industry,  which  had  fallen 
into  a  low  estate. 

"I  suppose,"  remarked  Kennedy,  casually,  "that 
you  are  already  modernizing  your  plant  and  that 
others  are  doing  the  same,  getting  ready  for  a 
revival." 

Erickson  received  the  remark  stolidly.  "No,"  he 
replied,  slowly.  "Some  of  us  may  be  doing  so,  but 
as  for  me,  I  shall  be  quite  content  to  sell  if  I  can  get 
my  price." 

"The  planters  are  not  putting  in  modern  ma- 
286 


THE    GUN-RUNNER 

chinery,  then?"  queried  Kennedy,  innocently,  while 
there  flashed  over  me  what  he  had  discovered  about 
shipments  of  agricultural  implements. 

Erickson  shook  his  head.  ' '  Some  of  them  may  be. 
But  for  one  that  is,  I  know  twenty  whose  only 
thought  is  to  sell  out  and  take  a  profit." 

The  conversation  trailed  off  on  other  subjects  and 
I  knew  that  Kennedy  had  acquired  the  information 
which  he  sought.  As  neatly  as  I  could  I  drew  him 
apart  from  Erickson. 

"Strange  he  should  tell  me  that,"  ruminated 
Kennedy  as  we  gained  a  quiet  corner  of  the  deck. 
"I  know  that  there  is  a  lot  of  stuff  consigned  to 
planters  in  the  island,  some  even  to  himself." 

"He  must  be  lying,  then,"  I  hastened.  "Perhaps 
these  promoters  are  really  plotters.  By  the  way, 
what  I  wanted  to  tell  you  was  that  I  saw  Sydney 
and  Leontine  together  again." 

He  was  about  to  reply  when  the  sound  of  some 
one  approaching  caused  us  to  draw  back  farther  into 
the  shadow.  It  proved  to  be  Whitson  and  Nanette. 

"Then  you  do  not  like  St.  Thomas?"  we  heard 
Whitson  remark,  as  if  he  were  repeating  something 
she  had  just  said. 

"There  is  nothing  there,"  she  replied.  "Why, 
there  aren't  a  hundred  miles  of  good  roads  and  not  a 
dozen  automobiles." 

Evidently  the  swiftness  of  life  in  New  York  of 
which  she  had  tasted  was  having  its  effect. 

"St.  Croix,  where  we  have  the  plantation,  is  just 
as  bad.  Part  of  the  time  we  live  there,  part  of  the 
time  at  Charlotte  Amalie  in  St.  Thomas.  But  there 
is  little  difference.  I  hope  Jorgen  is  able  to  sell.  At 

287 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

least  I  should  like  to  live  a  part  of  the  year  in  the 
States." 

"Would  he  like  that,  too?" 

"Many  of  us  would,"  she  replied,  quickly.  "For 
many  years  things  have  been  getting  worse  with  us. 
Just  now  it  seems  a  bit  better  because  of  the  high 
price  of  sugar.  But  who  knows  how  long  that  will 
last?  Oh,  I  wish  something  would  happen  soon  so 
that  we  might  make  enough  money  to  live  as  I  want 
to  live.  Think ;  here  the  best  years  of  life  are  slipping 
away.  Unless  we  do  something  soon,  it  will  be  too 
late!  We  must  make  our  money  soon." 

There  was  an  air  of  impatience  in  her  tone,  of 
restless  dissatisfaction.  I  felt  also  that  there  was  an 
element  of  danger,  too,  in  a  woman  just  passing  from 
youth  making  a  confidant  of  another  man. 

It  was  a  mixed  situation  with  the  quartet  whom 
we  were  watching.  One  thing  was  sufficiently  evi- 
dent. They  were  all  desperately  engaged  in  the 
pursuit  of  wealth.  That  was  a  common  bond.  Nor 
had  I  seen  anything  to  indicate  that  they  were  over- 
scrupulous in  that  pursuit.  Within  half  an  hour  I 
had  seen  Leontine  with  Sydney  and  Nanette  with 
Whitson.  Both  Sydney  as  consular  agent  and  Whit- 
son  through  his  influence  with  the  shipping  trust 
possessed  great  influence.  Had  the  party  thought  it 
out  and  were  they  now  playing  the  game  with  the 
main  chance  in  view? 

I  looked  inquiringly  at  Kennedy  as  the  voices  died 
away  while  the  couple  walked  slowly  down  the  deck. 
He  said  nothing,  but  he  was  evidently  pondering 
deeply  on  some  problem,  perhaps  that  which  the 
trend  of  affairs  had  raised  in  my  own  mind. 

288 


THE    GUN-RUNNER 

Our  delay  had  not  been  long,  but  it  had  been 
sufficient  to  cause  us  to  miss  finding  Leontine  and 
Sydney.  We  did,  however,  run  across  Burke,  bent 
evidently  on  watching,  also. 

"I  don't  like  this  business,"  he  confessed,  as  we 
paused  to  compare  experiences.  "I've  been  think- 
ing of  that  Mexican  business  you  hinted  at,  Kennedy. 
You  know  the  islands  would  be  an  ideal  out-of-the- 
way  spot  from  which  to  start  gun-running  expedi- 
tions to  Mexico.  I  don't  like  this  Leontine  and 
Burleigh.  They  want  to  make  money  too  bad." 

Kennedy  smiled.  "Burleigh  doesn't  seem  to  ap- 
prove of  everything,  though,"  he  remarked. 

"Perhaps  not.  That's  one  reason  why  I  think  it 
may  be  more  dangerous  for  Sydney  than  he  realizes. 
I  know  she's  a  fascinating  girl.  All  the  more  reason 
to  watch  out  for  her.  But  I  can't  talk  to  Sydney," 
he  sighed. 

It  was  an  enigma  and  I  had  not  solved  it,  though 
I  felt  much  as  Burke  did.  Kennedy  seemed  to  have 
determined  to  allow  events  to  take  their  course,  per- 
haps in  the  hope  that  developments  would  be  quicker 
that  way  than  by  interfering  with  something  which 
we  did  not  understand. 

In  the  smoking-room,  after  we  left  Burke,  Kennedy 
and  I  came  upon  Erickson  and  Burleigh.  They  had 
just  finished  a  game  of  poker  with  some  of  the  other 
passengers,  in  which  Burleigh's  usual  run  of  luck  and 
skill  had  been  with  him. 

"Lucky  at  cards,  unlucky  in  love,"  remarked 
Burleigh  as  we  approached. 

He  said  it  with  an  air  of  banter,  yet  I  could  not 
help  feeling  that  there  was  a  note  of  seriousness  at 

289 


THE    TREASURE-TRAIN 

the  bottom  of  it.  Had  he  known  that  Leontine  had 
been  with  Sydney  on  the  deck?  His  very  success 
at  poker  had  its  effect  on  me.  I  found  myself  eying 
him  as  if  he  had  been  one  of  the  transatlantic  card 
sharps,  perhaps  an  international  crook.  Yet  when 
I  considered  I  was  forced  to  admit  that  I  had  noth- 
ing on  which  to  base  such  a  judgment. 

Erickson  presented  a  different  problem,  to  my 
mind.  There  was  indeed  something  queer  about 
him.  Either  he  had  not  been  perfectly  frank  with 
us  in  regard  to  the  improvement  of  his  properties  or 
he  was  concealing  something  much  more  sinister. 
Again  and  again  my  mind  reverted  to  the  hints  that 
had  been  dropped  by  Marlowe,  and  I  recalled  the 
close  scrutiny  Whitson  had  given  the  four  that 
night.  So  far,  I  had  felt  that  in  any  such  attempt 
we  might  count  on  Whitson  playing  a  lone  hand  and 
perhaps  finding  out  something  to  our  advantage. 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  last  day  of  the  voyage 
that  most  of  the  passengers  gathered  on  the  deck 
for  the  first  glimpse  of  the  land  to  which  we  had 
been  journeying. 

Before  us  lay  the  beautiful  and  picturesque  harbor 
and  town  of  Charlotte  Amalie,  one  of  the  finest 
harbors  in  the  West  Indies,  deep  enough  to  float  the 
largest  vessels,  with  shipyards,  dry-docks,  and  repair 
shops.  From  the  deck  it  was  a  strikingly  beautiful 
picture,  formed  by  three  spurs  of  mountains  covered 
with  the  greenest  of  tropical  foliage.  From  the  edge 
of  the  dancing  blue  waves  the  town  itself  rose  on 
the  hills,  presenting  an  entrancing  panorama. 

All  was  bustle  and  excitement  as  the  anchor 
plunged  into  the  water,  for  not  only  was  this  the  end 

290 


THE    GUN-RUNNER 

of  our  journey,  but  the  arrival  of  the  boat  from  New 
York  was  an  event  for  the  town. 

There  was  much  to  watch,  but  I  let  nothing  inter- 
fere with  my  observation  of  how  the  affair  between 
Sydney  and  Leontine  was  progressing.  To  my  sur- 
prise, I  saw  that  this  morning  she  was  bestowing 
the  favor  of  her  smile  rather  on  Burleigh.  It  was 
Sydney's  turn  now  to  feel  the  pangs  of  jealousy,  and 
I  must  admit  that  he  bore  them  with  better  grace 
than  Burleigh,  whatever  that  might  indicate. 

As  I  watched  the  two  and  recalled  their  intimacy 
at  the  Burridge  the  first  night  we  had  seen  them,  I 
almost  began  to  wonder  whether  I  might  not  have 
been  wrong  about  Leontine.  Had  it  been  that  I  had 
distrusted  the  woman  merely  because  I  was  sus- 
picious of  the  type,  both  male  and  female?  Had  I 
been  finding  food  for  suspicion  because  I  was  myself 
suspicious? 

Erickson  was  standing  beside  Sydney,  while  we 
were  not  far  away.  Evidently  he  had  been  saving 
up  a  speech  for  the  occasion  and  now  was  prepared 
to  deliver  it. 

"Mr.  Sydney,"  he  began,  with  a  wave  of  his  arm 
that  seemed  to  include  us  all,  "it  is  a  pleasure  to 
welcome  you  here  to  our  island.  Last  night  it 
occurred  to  me  that  we  ought  to  do  something  to 
show  that  we  appreciate  it.  You  must  come  to 
dinner  to-night  at  my  villa  here  in  the  town.  You 
are  all  invited,  all  of  us  who  have  become  so  enjoy- 
ably  acquainted  on  this  voyage  which  I  shall  never 
forget.  Believe  me  when  I  say  that  it  will  be  even 
more  a  tribute  to  you  personally  than  because  of  the 
official  position  you  are  to  hold  among  us." 

291 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

It  was  a  graceful  invitation,  more  so  than  I  had 
believed  Erickson  capable  of  framing.  Sydney 
could  do  nothing  less  than  thank  him  cordially  and 
accept,  as  we  all  did.  Indeed,  I  could  see  that  Ken- 
nedy was  delighted  at  the  suggestion.  It  would  give 
him  an  opportunity  to  observe  them  all  under  cir- 
cumstances different  enough  to  show  something. 

While  we  were  thanking  Erickson,  I  saw  that 
Whitson  had  taken  the  occasion  also  to  thank  Mrs. 
Erickson,  with  whom  he  had  been  talking,  just  a 
bit  apart  from  the  group.  He  made  no  secret  of  his 
attentions,  though  I  thought  she  was  a  bit  em- 
barrassed by  them  at  such  a  time.  Indeed,  she 
started  rather  abruptly  toward  the  group  which 
was  now  intent  on  surveying  the  town,  and  as  she 
did  so,  I  noted  that  she  had  forgotten  her  hand-bag, 
which  lay  on  a  deck-chair  near  where  they  had  been 
sitting. 

I  picked  it  up  to  restore  it.  Some  uncontrollable 
curiosity  prompted  me  and  I  hesitated.  All  were 
still  looking  at  the  town.  I  opened  the  bag.  Inside 
was  a  little  bottle  of  grayish  liquid.  What  should 
I  do?  Any  moment  she  or  Whitson  might  turn 
around.  Hastily  I  pulled  off  the  cap  of  my  fountain- 
pen  and  poured  into  it  some  of  the  liquid,  replacing 
the  cork  in  the  bottle  and  dropping  it  back  into  the 
bag,  while  I  disposed  of  the  cap  as  best  I  could  with- 
out spilling  its  contents. 

Whether  either  she  or  any  one  else  had  observed 
me,  I  was  not  going  to  run  any  chances  of  being  seen. 
I  called  a  passing  steward.  "Mrs.  Erickson  forgot 
her  bag,"  I  said,  pointing  hastily  to  it.  "You'll  find 
her  over  there  with  Mr.  Whitson."  Then  I  mingled 

202 


THE    GUN-RUNNER 

in  the  crowd  to  watch  her.  She  did  not  seem  to  show 
any  anxiety  when  she  received  it. 

I  lost  no  time  in  getting  back  to  Kennedy  and 
telling  him  what  I  had  found,  and  a  few  moments 
later  he  made  an  excuse  to  go  to  our  state-room,  as 
eager  as  I  was  to  know  what  had  been  in  the  little 
bottle. 

First  he  poured  out  a  drop  of  the  liquid  from  the 
cap  of  my  fountain-pen  in  some  water.  It  did  not 
dissolve.  Successively  he  tried  alcohol,  ether,  then 
pepsin.  None  of  them  had  any  effect  on  it.  Finally, 
however,  he  managed  to  dissolve  it  in  ammonia. 

"Relatively  high  amount  of  sulphur,"  he  mut- 
tered, after  a  few  moments  more  of  study.  ' '  Keratin, 
I  believe." 

"A  poison?"  I  asked. 

Kennedy  shook  his  head.    "No;  harmless." 

"Then  what  is  it  for?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  may  have  had  some 
half -formed  idea,  but  if  he  did  it  was  still  indefinite 
and  he  refused  to  commit  himself.  Instead,  he  placed 
the  sample  in  his  traveling  laboratory,  closed  and 
locked  it,  and,  with  our  luggage,  the  box  was  ready 
to  be  taken  ashore. 

Nearly  every  one  had  gone  ashore  by  the  time  we 
returned  to  the  deck.  Whitson  was  there  yet,  talk- 
ing to  the  captain,  for  the  shipping  at  the  port  inter- 
ested him.  I  wondered  whether  he,  too,  might  be 
suspicious  of  those  cases  consigned  to  Erickson  and 
others.  If  so,  he  said  nothing  of  it. 

By  this  time  several  vessels  that  looked  as  if  they 
might  be  lighters,  though  fairly  large,  had  pulled  up. 
It  seemed  that  they  had  been  engaged  to  carry  ship- 
20  293 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

ments  of  goods  to  the  other  islands  of  St.  John  and 
St.  Croix. 

Kennedy  seemed  eager  now  to  get  ashore,  and  we 
went,  accompanied  by  Whitson,  and  after  some 
difficulty  established  ourselves  in  a  small  hotel. 

Most  of  the  tourists  were  sightseeing,  and,  while 
we  had  no  time  for  that,  still  we  could  not  help 
doing  so,  in  going  about  the  town. 

Charlotte  Amalie,  I  may  say,  proved  to  be  one  of 
the  most  picturesque  towns  in  the  Windward  Islands. 
The  walls  of  the  houses  were  mostly  of  a  dazzling 
whiteness,  though  some  were  yellow,  others  gray, 
orange,  blue.  But  the  roofs  were  all  of  a  generous 
bright  red  which  showed  up  very  effectively  among 
the  clumps  of  green  trees.  Indeed,  the  town  seemed 
to  be  one  of  gaily  tinted  villas  and  palaces.  There 
were  no  factories,  no  slums.  Nature  had  provided 
against  that  and  man  had  not  violated  the  provision. 

The  people  whom  we  met  on  the  streets  were 
mostly  negroes,  though  there  was  a  fair  sprinkling 
of  whites.  What  pleased  us  most  was  that  nearly 
everywhere  we  went  English  was  spoken.  I  had 
half  expected  Danish.  But  there  was  even  very  little 
Spanish  spoken. 

Burke  was  waiting  for  us,  and  in  spite  of  his  playing 
the  r61e  of  traveling  salesman  managed  to  direct  us 
about  so  that  we  might  as  quickly  as  possible  pick 
up  the  thread  of  the  mysterious  death  of  Dwight. 
It  did  not  take  long  to  gather  such  meager  informa- 
tion as  there  was  about  the  autopsy  that  had  fol- 
lowed the  strange  death  of  Sydney's  predecessor. 

We  were  able  to  find  out  little  from  either  the 
authorities  or  the  doctor  who  had  investigated  the 

294 


THE    GUN-RUNNER 

case.  Under  the  stress  of  suspicion,  both  the  stomach 
and  the  contents  of  the  stomach  of  the  unfortunate 
man  had  been  examined.  No  trace  of  anything  out  of 
the  way  had  been  found,  and  there  the  matter  had 
rested,  except  for  suspicion. 

One  of  our  first  visits  was  to  the  American  con- 
sulate. There  Sydney,  by  virtue  of  his  special 
commission,  had,  with  characteristic  energy,  es- 
tablished himself  with  the  consul.  Naturally,  he, 
too,  had  been  making  inquiries.  But  they  had  led 
nowhere.  There  seemed  to  be  no  clue  to  the  mys- 
terious death  of  D wight,  not  even  a  hint  as  to  the 
cause. 

All  that  we  were  able  to  discover,  after  some  hours 
of  patient  inquiry,  was  that  Dwight  had  suffered 
from  great  prostration,  marked  cyanosis,  convul- 
sions, and  coma.  Whether  it  was  the  result  of  some 
strange  disease  or  of  a  poison  no  one,  not  even  the 
doctor,  was  prepared  to  say.  All  that  was  known  was 
that  the  blow,  if  blow  it  had  been,  was  swift,  sudden, 
sure. 

We  ran  across  Whitson  once  or  twice  during  the 
day,  busily  engaged  renewing  acquaintance  with 
merchants  and  planters  whom  he  had  known  before, 
but  I  do  not  recall  having  seen  either  Burleigh  or 
Leontine,  which,  at  the  time,  I  thought  rather 
strange,  for  the  town  was  small  and  strangers  were 
few.  The  more  I  thought  of  it  the  more  firmly  con- 
vinced I  was  that  Dwight  had  discovered  some  secret 
which  it  was  extremely  inconvenient  for  somebody  to 
have  known.  What  was  it  ?  Was  it  connected  with 
the  rumors  we  had  heard  of  gun-running  to  Mexico? 

Erickson  had  invited  us  to  come  late  in  the  after- 
295 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

noon  to  the  dinner  and  we  did  not  delay  in  getting 
there.  His  house  proved  to  be  a  veritable  palace 
on  the  side  of  one  of  the  hills  rising  abruptly  back  of 
the  shore.  Flights  of  massive  stone  steps,  quaint 
walls  covered  with  creepers,  balustrades  overlooking 
charming  gardens,  arcades  from  which  one  looked 
out  on  splendid  vistas  and  shady  terraces  combined 
to  make  it  a  veritable  paradise  such  as  can  be  found 
only  in  tropical  and  subtropical  lands.  Most  won- 
derful of  all  was  the  picture  of  the  other  hills  unfolded, 
especially  of  the  two  ruined  pirates'  castles  belonging 
to  semi-mythical  personages,  Bluebeard  and  Black- 
beard. 

The  Ericksons  were  proud  of  their  home,  as  well 
they  might  be,  in  spite  of  the  complaints  we  had 
heard  Nanette  utter  and  the  efforts  of  Erickson  to 
sell  his  holdings.  Mrs.  Erickson  proved  to  be  a 
charming  hostess  and  the  host  extended  a  hospi- 
tality such  as  one  rarely  meets.  It  quite  made  me 
uncomfortable  to  accept  it  at  the  same  time  that  I 
knew  we  must  view  it  all  with  suspicion.  Nor  did 
it  make  matters  any  better,  but  rather  worse,  to  feel 
that  there  was  some  color  of  excuse  for  the  suspicion. 

Burleigh  arrived  proudly  with  Leontine,  followed 
closely  by  Sydney.  At  once  the  game  was  on  again, 
Leontine  pitting  one  against  the  other.  Whitson 
came,  his  attentions  to  Mrs.  Erickson  a  trifle  re- 
strained, but  still  obvious.  Burke  and  ourselves 
completed  the  party. 

To  the  repeated  urging  of  Erickson  we  made  our- 
selves quite  as  much  at  home  as  we  politely  could. 
Kennedy  and  Burke,  acting  under  his  instructions, 
seemed  to  be  ubiquitous.  Yet,  beyond  a  continua- 

296 


THE    GUN-RUNNER 

tion  of  the  drama  that  had  been  unfolded  on  the  ship 
it  did  not  seem  to  me  at  first  that  we  were  getting 
anywhere. 

Kennedy  and  I  were  passing  alone  along  a  colon- 
nade that  opened  off  from  the  large  dining-hall, 
when  Craig  paused  and  looked  in  through  an  open 
door  at  the  massive  table  set  for  the  dinner. 

A  servant  had  just  completed  setting  out  cocktails 
at  the  various  places,  pouring  them  from  a  huge 
tankard,  for  the  purpose,  which  had  been  standing 
on  a  sideboard.  Guests  had  been  walking  past 
through  the  colonnade  ever  since  we  arrived,  but  at 
the  moment  there  was  no  one  about,  and  even  the 
servant  had  disappeared. 

Kennedy  stepped  lightly  into  the  dining-hall  and 
looked  about  sharply.  Instinctively  I  stepped  to  a 
window  where  I  could  hear  any  one  approaching.  Out 
of  the  corner  of  my  eye  I  saw  him  narrowly  scruti- 
nizing the  table.  Finally  he  pulled  from  his  pocket 
a  clean  linen  handkerchief.  Into  an  empty  glass  he 
poured  the  contents  of  one  of  the  cocktail-glasses, 
straining  the  liquid  through  the  handkerchief. 
Then  he  poured  the  filtrate,  if  I  may  call  it  such, 
back  into  the  original  glass.  A  second  he  treated 
in  the  same  way,  and  a  third.  He  had  nearly  com- 
pleted the  round  of  the  table  when  I  heard  a  light 
step. 

My  warning  came  only  just  in  time.  It  was  Bur- 
leigh.  He  saw  us  standing  now  in  the  colonnade, 
made  some  hasty  remark,  then  walked  on,  as  if  in 
search  for  some  one.  Had  it  been  interest  in  Leon- 
tine  or  in  the  dining-room  that  had  drawn  him 

thither? 

297 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

Kennedy  was  now  looking  closely  at  the  hand- 
kerchief, and  I  looked  also.  In  the  glasses  had  been 
innumerable  little  seeds  as  if  from  the  fruit  juice 
used  in  concocting  the  appetizer.  The  fine  meshes 
of  the  linen  had  extracted  them.  What  were  they? 

I  took  one  in  my  fingers  and  crushed  it  between 
my  nails.  There  was  an  unmistakable  odor  of 
bitter  almonds.  What  did  it  mean? 

We  had  no  time  now  for  speculation.  Our  pro- 
longed absence  might  be  noticed  and  we  hastened 
to  join  the  other  guests  after  finishing  the  round  of 
glasses  in  which  he  had  been  interrupted. 

How,  in  my  suppressed  excitement,  I  managed  to 
get  through  that  dinner  I  do  not  know.  It  was  a 
brilliant  affair,  yet  I  found  that  I  had  completely 
lost  my  appetite,  as  well  one  might  after  having 
observed  Kennedy's  sleuthing. 

However,  the  dinner  progressed,  though  each 
course  that  brought  it  nearer  a  conclusion  afforded 
me  an  air  of  relief.  I  was  quite  ready  when,  over  the 
coffee,  Kennedy  contrived  to  make  some  excuse  for 
us,  promising  to  call  again  and  perhaps  to  visit  the 
Erickson  plantation. 

In  the  secrecy  of  our  room  in  the  little  hotel,  Craig 
was  soon  deeply  buried  in  making  use  of  his  travel- 
ing laboratory.  As  he  worked  I  could  no  longer 
restrain  my  impatience.  "What  about  that  little 
bottle  of  keratin?"  I  asked,  eagerly. 

"Oh  yes,"  he  replied,  not  looking  up  from  the 
tests  he  was  making.  "Well,  keratin,  you  know,  is 
also  called  epidermose.  It  is  a  scleroprotein  present 
largely  in  cuticular  structures  such  as  hair,  nails, 
horn.  I  believe  it  is  usually  prepared  from  pieces 

298 


THE    GUN-RUNNER 

of  horn  steeped  in  pepsin,  hydrochloric  acid,  and 
water  for  a  long  time.  Then  the  residue  is  dissolved 
in  ammonia  and  acetic  acid." 

"But  what's  its  use?"  I  demanded.  "You  said  it 
was  harmless." 

"Why,  the  pepsin  of  the  stomach  won't  digest  it," 
he  returned.  "For  that  reason  its  chief  use  is  for 
coating  what  are  known  as  'enteric  capsules.'  Any- 
thing coated  with  keratin  is  carried  on  through  the 
stomach  into  the  intestines.  It  is  used  much  in  hot 
countries  in  order  to  introduce  drugs  into  the  intes- 
tines in  the  treatment  of  the  tropical  diseases  that 
affect  the  intestines."  He  paused  and  devoted  his 
entire  attention  to  his  work,  but  he  had  told  me 
enough  to  assure  me  that  at  least  the  bottle  of 
keratin  I  had  found  had  proved  to  be  a  clue. 

I  waited  as  long  as  I  could,  then  interrupted  again. 
"What  are  the  seeds?"  I  queried.  "Have  you 
found  out  yet?" 

He  paused  as  though  he  had  not  quite  finished  his 
hasty  investigation,  yet  had  found  out  enough  to 
convince  him.  "There  seem  to  be  two  kinds.  I 
wish  I  had  had  time  to  keep  each  lot  separate. 
Some  of  them  are  certainly  quite  harmless.  But 
there  are  others,  I  find,  that  have  been  soaked  in 
nitro-benzol,  artificial  oil  of  bitter  almonds.  Even 
a  few  drops,  such  as  might  be  soaked  up  in  this  way, 
might  be  fatal.  The  new  and  interesting  phase,  to 
me,  is  that  they  were  all  carefully  coated  with 
keratin.  Really,  they  are  keratin-coated  enteric 
capsules  of  nitro-benzol,  a  deadly  poison." 

I  looked  at  him,  aghast  at  what  some  of  us  had 
been  rescued  from  by  his  prompt  action. 

299 


THE    TREASURE-TRAIN 

"You  see,"  he  went  on,  excitedly,  "that  is  why 
the  autopsies  probably  showed  nothing.  These 
doctors  down  here  sought  for  a  poison  in  the  stomach. 
But  if  the  poison  had  been  in  the  stomach  the  odor 
alone  would  have  betrayed  it.  You  smelt  it  when 
you  crushed  a  seed.  But  the  poisoning  had  been 
devised  to  avoid  just  that  chance  of  discovery. 
There  was  no  poison  in  the  stomach.  Death  was 
delayed  long  enough,  also,  to  divert  suspicion  from 
the  real  poisoner.  Some  one  has  been  diabolically 
clever  in  covering  up  the  crimes." 

I  could  only  gasp  my  amazement.  "Then,"  I 
blurted  out,  "you  think  the  Ericksons — 

Our  door  burst  open.  lUwas  Burke,  in  wild  ex- 
citement. 

"Has  anybody — died?"  I  managed  to  demand. 

He  seemed  not  to  hear,  but  dashed  to  the  window 
and  threw  it  open.  "Look!"  he  exclaimed. 

We  did.  In  the  late  twilight,  through  the  open 
sash  we  could  see  the  landlocked  basin  of  the  harbor. 
But  it  was  not  that  at  which  Burke  pointed.  On 
the  horizon  an  ugly  dark  cloud  rose  menacingly. 
In  the  strange,  unearthly  murkiness,  I  could  see 
people  of  the  town  pouring  out  into  the  narrow 
streets,  wildly,  fearfully,  with  frantic  cries  and 
gesticulations. 

For  a  moment  I  gazed  at  the  sight  blankly.  Then 
I  realized  that  sweeping  on  us  was  one  of  those 
sudden,  deadly  West-Indian  hurricanes.  Our  har- 
bor was  sheltered  from  the  north  and  east  winds. 
But  this  wind  was  southern  born,  rare,  oncoming  in 
a  fury  against  which  we  had  no  protection. 

Hastily  closing  his  armamentarium,  Kennedy  also 


THE    GUN-RUNNER 

hurried  out  on  the  street.  The  gale  had  become 
terrific  already  in  the  few  minutes  that  had  elapsed. 
From  our  terrace  we  could  see  the  water,  gray  and 
olive,  with  huge  white  breakers,  like  gnashing 
teeth,  coming  on  to  rend  and  tear  everything  in  their 
path.  It  was  as  though  we  stood  in  an  amphitheater 
provided  by  nature  for  a  great  spectacle,  the  bold 
headlands  standing  out  like  the  curves  of  a  stadium. 

I  looked  about.  The  Ericksons  had  just  driven 
up  with  Burleigh  and  Leontine,  as  well  as  Whitson, 
all  of  whom  were  stopping  at  our  hotel,  and  were 
about  to  take  Sydney  on  to  the  consulate  when  the 
approach  of  the  storm  warned  them  to  stay. 

Leontine  had  hurried  into  the  hotel,  evidently 
fearful  of  the  loss  of  something  she  treasured,  and 
the  rest  were  standing  apart  from  the  trees  and  build- 
ings, where  the  formation  of  the  land  offered  some 
protection.  As  we  joined  them  I  peered  at  the  pale 
faces  in  the  ghastly,  unnatural  light.  Was  it,  in  a 
sense,  retribution? 

Suddenly,  without  further  warning,  the  storm 
broke.  Trees  were  turned  up  by  roots,  like  weeds, 
the  buildings  rocked  as  if  they  had  been  houses  of 
cards.  It  was  a  wild,  catastrophic  spectacle. 

"Leontine,"  I  heard  a  voice  mutter  by  my  side, 
as  a  form  catapulted  itself  past  through  t~he  murki- 
ness  into  the  crazily  swaying  hotel.  It  was  Burleigh. 
I  turned  to  speak  to  Kennedy.  He  was  gone.  Where 
to  find  him  I  had  no  idea.  The  force  of  the  wind 
was  such  that  search  was  impossible.  All  we  could 
do  was  to  huddle  back  of  such  protection  as  the  earth 
afforded  against  the  million  needles  of  rain  that  cut 
into  our  faces. 

301 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

The  wind  almost  blew  me  flat  to  the  earth  as,  no 
longer  able  to  stand  the  suspense,  I  stumbled  toward 
the  hotel,  thinking  perhaps  he  had  gone  to  save  his 
armamentarium,  although  if  I  had  stopped  to  think 
I  should  have  realized  that  that  strong  box  was 
about  the  safest  piece  of  property  on  the  island. 

I  was  literally  picked  up  and  hurled  against  an 
object  in  the  darkness — a  man.  "In  the  room — 
more  keratin — more  seeds." 

It  was  Kennedy.  He  had  taken  advantage  of  the 
confusion  to  make  a  search  which  otherwise  might 
have  been  more  difficult.  Together  we  struggled 
back  to  our  shelter. 

Just  then  came  a  crash,  as  the  hotel  crumpled 
under  the  fierce  stress  of  the  storm.  Out  of  the 
doorway  struggled  a  figure  just  in  time  to  clear  the 
falling  walls.  It  was  Burleigh,  a  huge  gash  from  a 
beam  streaming  blood  down  his  forehead  which  the 
rain  washed  away  almost  as  it  oozed.  In  his  arms, 
clinging  about  his  neck,  was  Leontine,  no  longer 
the  sophisticated,  but  in  the  face  of  this  primeval 
danger  just  a  woman.  Burleigh  staggered  with  his 
burden  a  little  apart  from  us,  and  in  spite  of  every- 
thing I  could  fancy  him  blessing  the  storm  that  had 
given  him  his  opportunity. 

Far  from  abating,  the  storm  seemed  increasing  in 
fury,  as  though  all  the  devils  of  the  underworld  were 
vexed  at  anything  remaining  undestroyed.  It  seemed 
as  if  even  the  hills  on  which  the  old  pirates  had  once 
had  their  castles  must  be  rocking. 

"My  God!"  exclaimed  a  thick  voice,  as  an  arm 
shot  out,  pointing  toward  the  harbor. 

There  was  the  Arroyo  tugging  at  every  extra 
302 


THE   GUN-RUNNER 

mooring  that  could  be  impressed  into  service.  The 
lighters  had  broken  or  been  cut  away  and  were 
scudding,  destruction-bent,  squarely  at  the  shore 
almost  below  us.  A  moment  and  they  had  crashed 
on  the  beach,  a  mass  of  timbers  and  spars,  while 
the  pounding  waves  tore  open  and  flung  about 
heavy  cases  as  though  they  were  mere  toys. 

Then,  almost  as  suddenly  as  it  had  come,  the 
storm  began  to  abate,  the  air  cleared,  and  nothing 
remained  but  the  fury  of  the  waves. 

"Look!"  exclaimed  Kennedy,  pointing  down  at 
the  strange  wreckage  that  strewed  the  beach.  ' '  Does 
that  look  like  agricultural  machinery?"  We  strained 
our  eyes.  Kennedy  did  not  pause.  "The  moment  I 
heard  that  arms  were  getting  into  Mexico  I  sus- 
pected that  somewhere  here  in  the  Caribbean 
munitions  were  being  transhipped.  Perhaps  they 
have  been  sent  to  Atlantic  ports  ostensibly  for  the 
Allies.  They  have  got  down  here  disguised.  Even 
before  the  storm  exposed  them  I  had  reasoned  it 
out.  From  this  port,  the  key  to  the  vast  sweep  of 
mainland,  I  reasoned  that  they  were  being  taken 
over  to  secret  points  on  the  coast  where  big  ships 
could  not  safely  go.  It  was  here  that  blockade- 
runners  were  refitted  in  our  Civil  War.  It  is  here 
that  this  new  gun-running  plot  has  been  laid." 

He  turned  quickly  to  Sydney.  "The  only  ob- 
stacle between  the  transfer  of  the  arms  and  success 
was  the  activity  of  an  American  consulate.  Those 
lighters  were  not  to  carry  goods  to  other  islands. 
They  were  really  destined  for  Mexico.  It  was 
profitable.  And  the  scheme  for  removing  opposition 
was  evidently  safe." 

303 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

Kennedy  was  holding  up  another  bottle  of  keratin 
and  some  fruit  seeds.  "I  found  these  in  a  room  in 
the  hotel,"  he  added. 

I  did  not  comprehend.  "But,"  I  cut  in,  "the 
hand-bag — the  dinner — what  of  them?" 

"A  plant — a  despicable  trespass  on  hospitality- 
all  part  of  a  scheme  to  throw  the  guilt  on  some  one 
else,  worthy  of  a  renegade  and  traitor." 

Craig  wheeled  suddenly,  then  added,  with  an 
incisive  gesture,  "I  suppose  you  know  that  there  is 
reputed  to  have  been  on  one  of  these  hills  the  head- 
quarters of  the  old  pirate,  Teach — 'the  mildest 
manner'd  man  that  ever  scuttled  ship  or  cut  a 
throat!'  ' 

Kennedy  paused,  then  added,  quickly,  "In  respect 
to  covering  up  your  gun-running,  Whitson,  you  are 
superior  even  to  Teach!" 


XII 

THE   SUNKEN   TREASURE 


Get  story  Everson  and  bride  yacht  Belle  Aventure  seeking 
treasure  sunk  Gulf  liner  Antilles. 


jy'ENNEDY  and  I  had  proceeded  after  a  few 
•TS-  leisurely  days  in  St.  Thomas  to  Porto  Rico. 
We  had  no  particular  destination,  and  San  Juan 
rather  appealed  to  us  as  an  objective  point  because 
it  was  American. 

It  was  there  that  I  found  waiting  for  me  the  above 
message  by  wireless  from  the  Star  in  New  York. 

San  Juan  was,  as  we  had  anticipated,  a  thoroughly 
Americanized  town  and  I  lost  no  time  in  getting 
around  at  once  to  the  office  of  the  leading  news- 
paper, the  Colonial  News.  The  editor,  Kenmore, 
proved  to  be  a  former  New  York  reporter  who  had 
come  out  in  answer  to  an  advertisement  by  the 
proprietors  of  the  paper. 

"What's  the  big  story  here  now?"  I  asked  by  way 
of  preface,  expecting  to  find  that  colonial  news- 
papermen were  provincial. 

"What's  the  big  story?"  repeated  Kenmore,  im- 
patiently pushing  aside  a  long  leader  on  native 
politics  and  regarding  me  thoughtfully.  "Well,  I'm 
not  superstitious,  but  a  honeymoon  spent  trying  to 

305 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

break  into  Davy  Jones's  locker  for  sunken  treasure — 
I  guess  that's  a  good  story,  isn't  it?" 

I  showed  him  my  message  and  he  smiled.  "You 
see,  I  was  right,"  he  exclaimed.  "They're  search- 
ing now  at  the  Cay  d'Or,  the  Golden  Key,  one  of 
the  southernmost  of  the  Bahamas,  I  suppose  you 
would  call  it.  I  wish  I  was  like  you.  I'd  like  to  get 
away  from  this  political  stuff  long  enough  to  get 
the  story." 

He  puffed  absently  on  a  fragrant  native  cigar. 
"I  met  them  all  when  they  were  here,  before  they 
started,"  he  resumed,  reminiscently.  "It  was  cer- 
tainly a  picturesque  outfit — three  college  chums — 
one  of  them  on  his  honeymoon,  and  the  couple 
chaperoning  the  bride's  sister.  There  was  one  of 
the  college  boys — a  fellow  named  Gage — who  fairly 
made  news." 

"How  was  that?"  inquired  Kennedy,  who  had 
accompanied  me,  full  of  zest  at  the  prospect  of 
mixing  in  a  story  so  romantic. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  that  it  was  his  fault — alto- 
gether," replied  Kenmore.  "There's  a  young  lady 
here  in  the  city,  the  daughter  of  a  pilot,  Dolores 
Guiteras.  She  had  been  a  friend  of  some  one  in  the 
expedition,  I  believe.  I  suppose  that's  how  Gage 
met  her.  I  don't  think  either  of  them  really  cared 
for  each  other.  Perhaps  she  was  a  bit  jealous  of  the 
ladies  of  the  party.  I  don't  know  anything  much 
about  it,  only  I  remember  one  night  in  the  cafe  of 
the  Palace  Hotel,  I  thought  Gage  and  another  fellow 
would  fight  a  duel — almost — until  Everson  dropped 
in  and  patched  the  affair  up  and  the  next  day  his 
yacht  left  for  Golden  Key." 

306 


THE    SUNKEN  TREASURE 

"I  wish  I'd  been  here  to  go  with  them,"  I  con- 
sidered. "How  do  you  suppose  I'll  be  able  to  get 
out  there,  now?" 

"You  might  be  able  to  hire  a  tug,"  shrugged 
Kenmore.  "The  only  one  I  know  is  that  of  Captain 
Guiteras.  He's  the  father  of  this  Dolores  I  told  you 
about." 

The  suggestion  seemed  good,  and  after  a  few 
moments  more  of  conversation,  absorbing  what  little 
Kenmore  knew,  we  threaded  our  way  across  the  city 
to  the  home  of  the  redoubtable  Guiteras  and  his 
pretty  daughter. 

Guiteras  proved  to  be  a  man  of  about  fifty,  a 
sturdy,  muscular  fellow,  his  face  bronzed  by  the 
tropical  sun. 

I  had  scarcely  broached  the  purpose  of  my  visit 
when  his  restless  brown  eyes  seemed  literally  to 
flash.  "No,  sir,"  he  exclaimed,  emphatically.  "You 
cannot  get  me  to  go  on  any  such  expedition.  Mr. 
Everson  came  here  first  and  tried  to  hire  my  tug. 
I  wouldn't  do  it.  No,  sir — he  had  to  get  one  from 
Havana.  Why,  the  whole  thing  is  unlucky — hoo- 
dooed, you  call  it.  I  will  not  touch  it." 

"But,"  I  remonstrated,  surprised  at  his  unex- 
pected vehemence,  "I  am  not  asking  you  to  join 
the  expedition.  We  are  only  going  to — " 

"No,  no,"  he  interrupted.  "I  will  not  consider 
it.  I—" 

He  cut  short  his  remarks  as  a  young  woman, 
radiant  in  her  Latin-American  beauty,  opened  the 
door,  hesitated  at  sight  of  us,  then  entered  at  a  nod 
from  him.  We  did  not  need  to  be  told  that  this  was 
the  Dolores  whom  Kenmore's  rumor  had  credited 

307 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

with  almost  wrecking  Everson's  expedition  at  the 
start.  She  was  a  striking  type,  her  face,  full  of 
animation  and  fire,  betraying  more  of  passion  than 
of  intellect. 

A  keen  glance  of  inquiry  from  her  wonderful  eyes 
at  her  father  was  followed  by  a  momentary  far- 
away look,  and  she  remained  silent,  while  Guiteras 
paused,  as  if  considering  something. 

"They  say,"  he  continued,  slowly,  his  features 
drawn  sharply,  "that  there  was  loot  of  Mexican 
churches  on  that  ship — the  jewels  of  Our  Lady  of  the 
Rosary  at  Puebla.  .  .  .  That  ship  was  cursed,  I  tell 
you!"  he  added,  scowling  darkly. 

"No  one  was  lost  on  it,  though,"  I  ventured  at 
random. 

"I  suppose  you  never  heard  the  story  of  the 
Antilles?"  he  inquired,  turning  swiftly  toward  me. 
Then,  without  stopping:  "She  had  just  sailed  from 
San  Juan  before  she  was  wrecked — on  her  way  to 
New  York  from  Vera  Cruz  with  several  hundred 
Mexican  refugees.  Treasure?  Yes;  perhaps  mill- 
ions, money  that  belonged  to  wealthy  families  in 
Mexico — and  some  that  had  the  curse  on  it. 

"You  asked  a  moment  ago  if  everybody  wasn't 
rescued.  Well,  everybody  was  rescued  from  the 
wreck  except  Captain  Driggs.  I  don't  know  what 
happened.  No  one  knows.  The  fire  had  got  into 
the  engine-room  and  the  ship  was  sinking  fast.  Pas- 
sengers saw  him,  pale,  like  a  ghost,  some  said. 
Others  say  there  was  blood  streaming  from  his  head. 
When  the  last  boat-load  left  they  couldn't  find  him. 
They  had  to  put  off  without  him.  It  was  a  miracle 
that  no  one  else  was  lost." 

308 


THE    SUNKEN   TREASURE 

"How  did  the  fire  start?"  inquired  Kennedy, 
much  interested. 

"No  one  knows  that,  either,"  answered  Guiteras, 
shaking  his  head  slowly.  ' '  I  think  it  must  have  been 
smoldering  in  the  hold  for  hours  before  it  was 
discovered.  Then  the  pumps  either  didn't  work 
properly  or  it  had  gained  too  great  headway  for 
them.  I've  heard  many  people  talk  of  it  and  of  the 
treasure.  No,  sir,  you  wouldn't  get  me  to  touch  it. 
Maybe  you'll  call  it  superstition.  But  I  won't  have 
anything  to  do  with  it.  I  wouldn't  go  with  Mr. 
Everson  and  I  won't  go  with  you.  Perhaps  you 
don't  understand,  but  I  can't  help  it." 

Dolores  had  stood  beside  her  father  while  he  was 
speaking,  but  had  said  nothing,  though  all  the  time 
she  had  been  regarding  us  from  beneath  her  long 
black  eyelashes.  Arguments  with  the  old  pilot  had 
no  effect,  but  I  could  not  help  feeling  that  somehow 
she  was  on  our  side,  that  whether  she  shared  his 
fears  and  prejudices,  her  heart  was  really  somewhere 
near  the  Key  of  Gold. 

There  seemed  to  be  nothing  for  us  to  do  but  wait 
until  some  other  way  turned  up  to  get  out  to  the 
expedition,  or  perhaps  Dolores  succeeded  in  chang- 
ing the  captain's  mind.  We  bowed  ourselves  out, 
not  a  little  puzzled  by  the  enigma  of  the  obdurate 
old  man  and  his  pretty  daughter.  Try  as  I  might 
among  the  busy  shipping  of  the  port,  I  could  find 
no  one  else  willing  at  any  reasonable  price  to  change 
his  plans  to  accommodate  us. 

It  was  early  the  next  morning  that  a  young  lady, 
very  much  perturbed,  called  on  us  at  our  hotel, 
scarcely  waiting  even  the  introduction  of  her  plainlv 
21  3°9 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

engraved    card    bearing    the    name,    Miss    Norma 
Sanford. 

"Perhaps  you  know  of  my  sister,  Asta  Sanford, 
Mrs.  Orrin  Everson,"  she  began,  speaking  very 
rapidly  as  if  under  stress.  "We're  down  here  on 
Asta's  honeymoon  in  Orrin's  yacht,  the  Belle 
Aventure."  Craig  and  I  exchanged  glances,  but 
she  did  not  give  us  a  chance  to  interrupt. 

"It  all  seems  so  sudden,  so  terrible,"  she  cried,  in 
a  burst  of  wild,  incoherent  feeling.  "Yesterday 
Bertram  Traynor  died,  and  we've  put  back  to  San 
Juan  with  his  body.  I'm  so  worried  for  Orrin  and 
my  sister.  I  heard  you  were  here,  Professor  Ken- 
nedy, and  I  couldn't  rest  until  I  saw  you." 

She  was  looking  anxiously  at  Craig.  I  wondered 
whether  she  had  heard  of  our  visit  to  the  Guiterases 
and  what  she  knew  about  that  other  woman. 

"I  don't  quite  understand,"  interposed  Kennedy, 
with  an  effort  to  calm  her.  "Why  do  you  fear 
for  your  sister  and  Mr.  Everson?  Was  there 
something  —  suspicious  —  about  the  death  of  Mr. 
Traynor?" 

"Indeed  I  think  there  was,"  she  replied,  quickly. 
"None  of  us  has  any  idea  how  it  happened.  Let 
me  tell  you  about  our  party.  You  see,  there  are 
three  college  chums,  Orrin  and  two  friends,  Bertram 
Traynor  and  Donald  Gage.  They  were  all  on  a 
cruise  down  here  last  winter,  the  year  after  they 
graduated.  It  was  in  San  Juan  that  Orrin  first  met 
Mr.  Dominick,  who  was  the  purser  on  the  Antilles — 
you  know,  that  big  steamer  of  the  Gulf  Line  that 
was  burned  last  year  and  went  down  with  seven 
million  dollars  aboard?" 

310 


THE    SUNKEN   TREASURE 

Kennedy  nodded  to  the  implied  query,  and  she 
went  on:  "Mr.  Dominick  was  among  those  saved, 
but  Captain  Driggs  was  lost  with  his  ship.  Mr. 
Dominick  had  been  trying  to  interest  some  one  here 
in  seeking  the  treasure.  They  knew  about  where 
the  Antilles  went  down,  and  the  first  thing  he  wanted 
to  do  was  to  locate  the  wreck  exactly.  After  that 
was  done  of  course  Mr.  Dominick  knew  about  the 
location  of  the  ship's  strong  room  and  all  that." 

"That,  of  course,  was  common  knowledge  to  any 
one  interested  enough  to  find  out,  though,"  suggested 
Kennedy. 

"Of  course,"  she  agreed.  "Well,  a  few  months 
later  Orrin  met  Mr.  Dominick  again,  in  New  York. 
In  the  mean  time  he  had  been  talking  the  thing  over 
with  various  people  and  had  become  acquainted 
with  a  man  who  had  once  been  a  diver  for  the  Inter- 
ocean  Marine  Insurance  Company — Owen  Kinsale. 
Anyhow,  so  the  scheme  grew.  They  incorporated  a 
company,  the  Deep  Sea  Engineering  Company,  to 
search  for  the  treasure.  That  is  how  Orrin  started. 
They  are  using  his  yacht  and  Mr.  Dominick  is  really 
in  command,  though  Mr.  Kinsale  has  the  actual 
technical  knowledge." 

She  paused,  but  again  her  feelings  seemed  to  get 
the  better  of  her.  "Oh,"  she  cried,  "I've  been 
afraid  all  along,  lately.  It's  dangerous  work.  And 
then,  the  stories  that  have  been  told  of  the  ship  and 
the  treasure.  It  seems  ill-fated.  Professor  Ken- 
nedy," she  appealed,  "I  wish  you  would  come  and 
see  us.  We're  not  on  the  yacht  just  now.  We  came 
ashore  as  soon  as  we  arrived  back,  and  Asta  and 
Orrin  are  at  the  Palace  Hotel  now.  Perhaps  Orrin 

3" 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

can  tell  you  more.    If  you  can  do  nothing  more  than 
quiet  my  fears — " 

Her  eyes  finished  the  sentence.  Norma  Sanford 
was  one  of  those  girls  who  impress  you  as  quite 
capable  of  taking  care  of  themselves.  But  in  the 
presence  of  the  tragedy  and  a  danger  which  she  felt 
but  could  not  seem  to  define,  she  felt  the  need  of 
outside  assistance  and  did  not  hesitate  to  ask  it. 
Nor  was  Kennedy  slow  in  responding.  He  seemed 
to  welcome  a  chance  to  help  some  one  in  distress. 

We  found  Everson  and  his  young  wife  at  the 
hotel,  quite  different  now  from  the  care-free  advent- 
urers who  had  set  out  only  a  few  days  before  to 
wrest  a  fortune  from  chance. 

I  had  often  seen  portraits  of  the  two  Sanford 
sisters  in  the  society  pages  of  the  papers  in  the 
States  and  knew  that  the  courtship  of  Orrin  Everson 
and  Asta  Sanford  had  been  a  true  bit  of  modern 
romance. 

Asta  Everson  was  a  unique  type  of  girl.  She  had 
begun  by  running  fast  motor  cars  and  boats.  That 
had  not  satisfied  her,  and  she  had  taken  up  aviation. 
Once,  even,  she  had  tried  deep-sea  diving  herself. 
It  seemed  as  if  she  had  been  born  with  the  spirit  of 
adventure. 

To  win  her,  Everson  had  done  about  everything 
from  Arctic  exploration  one  summer  when  he  was  in 
college  to  big-game  hunting  in  Africa,  and  mountain- 
climbing  in  the  Andes.  Odd  though  the  romance 
might  seem  to  be,  one  could  not  help  feeling  that  the 
young  couple  were  splendidly  matched  in  their  tastes. 
Each  had  that  spirit  of  restlessness  which,  at  least, 
sent  them  out  playing  at  pioneering. 

312 


THE    SUNKEN   TREASURE 

Everson  had  organized  the  expedition  quite  as 
much  in  the  spirit  of  revolt  against  a  prosaic  life  of 
society  at  home  as  for  gain.  It  had  appealed  strongly 
to  Asta.  She  had  insisted  that  nothing  so  much  as 
a  treasure  hunt  would  be  appropriate  for  their 
wedding-trip  and  they  had  agreed  on  the  unconven- 
tional. Accordingly,  she  and  her  sister  had  joined 
Everson  and  his  party,  Norma,  though  a  year 
younger,  being  quite  like  her  sister  in  her  taste  for 
excitement. 

"Of  course,  you  understand,"  explained  Everson, 
as  he  hurriedly  tried  to  give  us  some  idea  of  what 
had  happened,  "we  knew  that  the  Antilles  had 
sunk  somewhere  off  the  Cay  d'Or.  It  was  first  a 
question  of  locating  her.  That  was  all  that  we 
had  been  doing  when  Bertram  died.  It  is  ter- 
rible, terrible.  I  can't  believe  it.  I  can't  under- 
stand it." 

In  spite  of  his  iron  nerve,  the  tragedy  seemed  to 
have  shaken  Everson  profoundly. 

"You  had  done  nothing  that  might  have  been 
dangerous?"  asked  Kennedy,  pointedly. 

"Nothing,"  emphasized  Everson.  "You  see,  we 
located  the  wreck  in  a  way  somewhat  similar  to  the 
manner  in  which  they  sweep  the  seas  for  mines  and 
submarines.  It  was  really  very  simple,  though  it 
took  us  some  time.  All  we  did  was  to  drag  a  wire 
at  a  fixed  depth  between  the  yacht  and  the  tug,  or 
rather,  I  suppose  you'd  almost  call  it  a  trawler, 
which  I  chartered  from  Havana.  What  we  were 
looking  for  was  to  have  the  wire  catch  on  some 
obstruction.  It  did,  too,  not  once,  but  many  times, 
due  to  the  unevenness  of  the  ocean  bed.  Once  we 

313 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

located  a  wreck,  but  it  was  in  shallow  water,  a  small 
boat,  not  the  one  we  were  looking  for." 

"But  you  succeeded  finally?" 

"Yes,  only  day  before  yesterday  we  located  her. 
We  marked  the  spot  with  a  buoy  and  were  getting 
ready  for  real  work.  It  was  just  after  that  that 
Bertram  was  taken  ill  and  died  so  suddenly.  We've 
left  Dominick,  Kinsale,  Gage,  and  the  rest  on  the 
trawler  there,  while  I  came  here  with  Traynor's 
body.  God!  but  it  was  awful  to  have  to  send  the 
news  back  to  New  York.  I  don't  know  what  to 
think  or  what  to  do." 

"How  did  he  die?"  asked  Kennedy,  endeavoring 
to  gain  the  confidence  of  young  Everson.  "Do  you 
recall  any  of  his  symptoms?" 

"It  came  on  him  so  suddenly,"  he  replied,  "that 
we  hadn't  much  time  to  think.  As  nearly  as  we 
could  make  out,  it  began  with  a  faintness  and  diffi- 
culty in  breathing.  We  asked  him  how  he  felt — 
but  it  seemed  as  if  he  was  deaf.  I  thought  it  might 
be  the  'bends' — you  know,  caisson  disease — and 
we  started  to  put  him  in  the  medical  lock  which  we 
had  for  the  divers,  but  before  we  could  get  it  ready 
he  was  unconscious.  It  was  all  so  sudden  that  it 
stunned  us.  I  can't  make  it  out  at  all." 

Neither  Asta  nor  Norma  seemed  able  to  tell  any- 
thing. In  fact,  the  blow  had  been  so  swift  and  unex- 
pected, so  incomprehensible,  that  it  had  left  them 
thoroughly  alarmed. 

The  body  of  Traynor  had  already  been  brought 
ashore  and  placed  in  a  local  undertaking  shop.  With 
Everson,  Kennedy  and  I  hastened  to  visit  it. 

Traynor   had   been    an    athlete    and    powerfully 


THE    SUNKEN   TREASURE 

built,  which  made  his  sudden  death  seem  all  the 
more  strange.  Without  a  word,  Craig  set  to  work 
immediately  examining  his  body,  while  we  stood 
aside,  watching  him  in  anxious  silence. 

Kennedy  consumed  the  greater  part  of  the  morn- 
ing in  his  careful  investigation,  and  after  some  time 
Everson  began  to  get  restless,  wondering  how  his 
wife  and  sister-in-law  were  getting  on  in  his  absence. 
To  keep  him  company  I  returned  to  the  hotel  with 
him,  leaving  Kennedy  to  pursue  his  work  alone. 

There  was  nothing  much  that  either  of  us  could 
say  or  do,  but  I  thought  I  observed,  on  closer  ac- 
quaintance with  Norma,  that  she  had  something 
weighing  on  her  mind.  Was  it  a  suspicion  of  which 
she  had  not  told  us?  Evidently  she  was  not  pre- 
pared to  say  anything  yet,  but  I  determined,  rather 
than  try  to  quiz  her,  to  tell  Kennedy,  in  the  hope 
that  she  might  confide  in  him  what  she  would  not 
breathe  to  any  one  else. 

It  was  perhaps  an  hour  or  more  later  that  we  re- 
turned to  Craig.  He  was  still  at  work,  though  from 
his  manner  it  was  evident  that  his  investigations  had 
begun  to  show  something,  however  slight. 

"Have  you  found  anything?"  asked  Everson, 
eagerly. 

"I  think  I  have,"  returned  Craig,  measuring  his 
words  careiully.  "Of  course  you  know  the  dangers 
of  diving  and  the  view  now  accepted  regarding  the 
rapid  effervescence  of  the  gases  which  are  absorbed  in 
the  body  fluids  during  exposure  to  pressure.  I  think 
you  know  that  experiment  has  proved  that  when  the 
pressure  is  suddenly  relieved  the  gas  is  liberated  in 
bubbles  within  the  body.  That  is  what  seems  to  do 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

the  harm.  His  symptoms,  as  you  described  them, 
seemed  to  indicate  that.  It  is  like  charged  water  in 
a  bottle.  Take  out  the  cork  and  the  gas  inside 
which  has  been  under  pressure  bubbles  up.  In  the 
human  body,  air  and  particularly  the  nitrogen  in 
the  air,  literally  form  death  bubbles." 

Everson  said  nothing  as  he  regarded  Kennedy's 
face  searchingly,  and  Craig  went  on:  "Set  free  in 
the  spinal  cord,  for  instance,  such  bubbles  may  cause 
partial  paralysis,  or  in  the  heart  may  lead  to  stoppage 
of  the  circulation.  In  this  case  I  am  quite  sure  that 
what  I  have  found  indicates  air  in  the  arteries,  the 
heart,  and  the  blood  vessels  of  the  brain.  It  must 
have  been  a  case  of  air  embolism,  insufflation." 

Though  Everson  seemed  all  along  to  have  sus- 
pected something  of  the  sort,  Kennedy's  judgment 
left  him  quite  as  much  at  a  loss  for  an  explanation. 
Kennedy  seemed  to  understand,  as  he  went  on: 

"I  have  tried  to  consider  all  the  ways  such  a 
thing  could  have  happened,"  he  considered.  "It  is 
possible  that  air  might  have  been  introduced  into 
the  veins  by  a  hypodermic  needle  or  other  instrument. 
But  I  find  no  puncture  of  the  skin  or  other  evidence 
that  would  support  that  theory.  I  have  looked  for 
a  lesion  of  the  lungs,  but  find  none.  Then  how  could  it 
have  occurred?  Had  he  done  any  real  deep  diving?" 

Everson  shook  his  head  slowly.  "No,"  he  re- 
plied. "As  I  said,  it  wouldn't  have  been  so  incom- 
prehensible if  he  had.  Besides,  if  we  had  been  diving, 
we  should  have  been  on  the  lookout.  No,  Bertram 
had  only  tested  the  apparatus  once,  after  we  located 
the  wreck.  He  didn't  much  more  than  go  under  the 
surface — nothing  like  the  practice  dives  we  all  made 

316 


THE    SUNKEN   TREASURE 

up  in  Long  Island  Sound  before  we  came  down  here. 
He  was  only  testing  the  pumps  and  other  things  to 
see  whether  they  had  stood  the  voyage.  Why,  it 
was  nothing  at  all!  I  don't  see  how  it  could  have 
given  any  one  the  'bends' — much  less  a  fellow  like 
Traynor.  Why,  I  think  he  could  have  stood  more 
than  Kinsale  with  a  little  practice.  Kennedy,  I 
can't  get  it  out  of  my  mind  that  there's  something 
about  this  that  isn't  right." 

Craig  regarded  Everson  gravely.  "Frankly,"  he 
confessed,  "I  must  say  that  I  don't  understand  it 
myself — at  this  distance." 

"Would  you  come  out  to  the  Key  with  me?" 
hastened  Everson,  as  though  grasping  at  a  possible 
solution. 

"I  should  be  delighted  to  help  you  in  any  manner 
that  I  can,"  returned  Craig,  heartily. 

Everson  could  not  find  words  to  express  his  grati- 
tude as  we  hurried  back  to  the  hotel.  In  the  excite- 
ment, I  had  completely  forgotten  the  despatch  from 
the  Star,  but  now  I  suddenly  realized  that  here,  ready 
to  hand,  was  the  only  way  of  getting  out  to  the  Key 
of  Gold  and  securing  the  story. 

Asta  Everson  and  Norma,  especially,  were  over- 
joyed at  the  news  that  Kennedy  had  consented  to 
accompany  them  back  to  the  wreck.  Evidently  they 
had  great  faith  in  him,  from  what  they  had  heard  at 
home. 

Accordingly,  Everson  lost  no  time  in  preparing  to 
return  to  the  yacht.  Nothing  more  now  could  be 
done  for  poor  Traynor,  and  delay  might  mean  much 
in  clearing  up  the  mystery,  if  mystery  it  should 
prove.  We  were  well  on  our  way  toward  the  landing- 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

place  before  I  realized  that  we  were  going  over  much 
the  same  route  that  Kennedy  and  I  had  taken  the 
day  before  to  reach  the  home  of  Guiteras. 

I  was  just  about  to  say  something  about  it  to 
Kennedy,  and  of  the  impression  that  Norma  had 
made  on  me,  when  suddenly  a  figure  darted  from 
around  a  corner  and  confronted  us.  We  stopped  in 
surprise.  It  was  no  other  than  Dolores  herself — 
not  the  quiet,  subdued  Dolores  we  had  seen  the  day 
before,  but  an  .almost  wild,  passionate  creature. 
What  it  was  that  had  transformed  her  I  could  not 
imagine.  It  was  not  ourselves  that  she  seemed  to 
seek,  nor  yet  the  Eversons.  She  did  not  pause  until 
she  had  come  close  to  Norma  herself. 

For  a  moment  the  two  women,  so  different  in 
type,  faced  each  other,  Dolores  fiery  with  the  ardent 
beauty  of  her  race,  Norma  pulsating  with  life  and 
vigor,  yet  always  mistress  of  herself. 

"I  warn  you!"  cried  Dolores,  unable  to  restrain 
herself.  "You  thought  the  other  was  yours — and 
he  was  not.  Do  not  seek  revenge.  He  is  mine — 
mine,  I  tell  you.  Win  your  own  back  again.  I  was 
only  making  sport  of  him.  But  mine — beware!" 

For  a  moment  Norma  gazed  at  her,  then,  without 
a  word,  turned  aside  and  walked  on.  Another  in- 
stant and  Dolores  was  gone  as  suddenly  as  she  had 
appeared.  Asta  looked  inquiringly,  but  Norma 
made  no  attempt  at  explanation.  What  did  it 
mean?  Had  it  anything  to  do  with  the  dispute  in 
the  hotel  which  Kenmore  had  witnessed? 

At  the  landing  we  parted  for  a  time  with  Everson, 
to  return  to  our  hotel  and  get  what  little  we  needed, 
including  Kennedy's  traveling  laboratory,  while 


THE    SUNKEN   TREASURE 

Everson  prepared  quarters  for  our  reception  on  the 
yacht. 

"What  do  you  make  of  that  Dolores  incident?" 
I  hastened  to  ask  the  moment  we  were  alone. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  replied,  "except  that  I  feel  it 
has  an  important  bearing  on  the  case.  There  is 
something  that  Norma  hasn't  told  us,  I  fear." 

While  we  waited  for  a  wagon  to  transfer  our  goods 
to  the  dock,  Kennedy  took  a  moment  to  call  up 
Kenmore  on  the  News.  As  he  turned  to  me  from  the 
telephone,  I  saw  that  what  he  had  learned  had  not 
helped  him  much  in  his  idea  of  the  case. 

"It  was  the  Interocean  Company  which  had  in- 
sured the  Antilles,'"  was  all  he  said. 

Instantly  I  thought  of  Kinsale  and  his  former 
connection.  Was  he  secretly  working  with  them 
still?  Was  there  a  plot  to  frustrate  Everson 's  plans? 
At  least  the  best  thing  to  do  was  to  get  out  to  the 
wreck  and  answer  our  many  questions  at  first  hand. 

The  Belle  Aventure  was  a  trim  yacht  of  perhaps 
seventy  feet,  low,  slim,  and  graceful,  driven  by  a 
powerful  gas-engine  and  capable  of  going  almost 
anywhere.  An  hour  later  we  were  aboard  and 
settled  in  a  handsomely  appointed  room,  where 
Craig  lost  no  time  in  establishing  his  temporary 
traveling  crime  clinic. 

It  was  quite  late  before  we  were  able  to  start,  for 
Everson  had  a  number  of  commissions  to  attend  to 
on  this  his  first  visit  to  port  since  he  had  set  out  so 
blithely.  Finally,  however,  we  had  taken  aboard  all 
that  he  needed  and  we  slipped  out  quietly  past  the 
castle  on  the  point  guarding  the  entrance  to  the 
harbor.  All  night  we  plowed  ahead  over  the  brilliant, 

3*9 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

starry,  tropical  sea,  making  splendid  time,  for  the 
yacht  was  one  of  the  fastest  that  had  ever  been 
turned  out  by  the  builders. 

Now  and  then  I  could  see  that  Kennedy  was  fur- 
tively watching  Norma,  in  the  hope  that  she  might 
betray  whatever  secret  it  was  she  was  guarding  so 
jealously.  Though  she  betrayed  nothing,  I  felt  sure 
that  it  had  to  do  with  some  member  of  the  expedition 
and  that  it  was  a  more  than  ordinarily  complicated 
affair  of  the  heart.  The  ladies  had  retired,  leaving 
us  with  Everson  in  the  easy  wicker  chairs  on  the 
after-deck. 

"I  can't  seem  to  get  out  of  my  mind,  Everson, 
that  meeting  with  the  Spanish  girl  on  the  street," 
suddenly  remarked  Kennedy,  in  the  hope  of  getting 
something  by  surprise.  "You  see,  I  had  already 
heard  of  a  little  unpleasantness  in  a  hotel  cafe,  be- 
fore the  expedition  started.  Somehow  I  feel  that 
there  must  be  some  connection." 

For  a  moment  Everson  regarded  Kennedy  under 
the  soft  rays  of  the  electric  light  under  the  awning 
as  it  swayed  in  the  gentle  air,  then  looked  out  over 
the  easy  swell  of  the  summer  sea. 

"I  don't  understand  it  myself,"  he  remarked,  at 
length,  lowering  his  voice.  "When  we  came  down 
here  Dominick  knew  that  girl,  Dolores,  and  of  course 
Kinsale  met  her  right  away,  too.  I  thought  Gage 
was  head  over  ears  in  love  with  Norma — and  I 
guess  he  is.  Only  that  night  in  the  cafe  I  just  didn't 
like  the  way  he  proposed  a  toast  to  Dolores.  He 
must  have  met  her  that  day.  Maybe  he  was  a  bit 
excited.  What  she  said  to-day  might  mean  that  it 
was  her  fault.  I  don't  know.  But  since  we've  been 

320 


THE    SUNKEN   TREASURE 

out  to  the  Key  I  fancy  Norma  has  been  pretty 
interested  in  Dominick.  And  Kinsale  doesn't  hesi- 
tate to  show  that  he  likes  her.  It  all  sets  Donald 
crazy.  It's  so  mixed  up.  I  can't  make  anything  of 
it.  And  Norma — well,  even  Asta  can't  get  anything 
out  of  her.  I  wish  to  Heaven  you  could  straighten  the 
thing  out." 

We  talked  for  some  time,  without  getting  much 
more  light  than  Everson  had  been  able  at  first  to 
shed  on  the  affair,  and  finally  we  retired,  having 
concluded  that  only  time  and  events  would  enable 
us  to  get  at  the  truth. 

It  was  early  in  the  morning  that  I  was  wakened 
by  a  change  in  the  motion  of  the  boat.  There  was 
very  little  vibration  from  the  engine,  but  this  motion 
was  different.  I  looked  out  of  the  port-hole  which 
had  been  very  cleverly  made  to  resemble  a  window 
and  found  that  we  had  dropped  anchor. 

The  Key  of  Gold  was  a  beautiful  green  island,  set, 
like  a  sparkling  gem,  in  a  sea  of  deepest  turquoise. 
Slender  pines  with  a  tuft  of  green  at  the  top  rose 
gracefully  from  the  wealth  of  foliage  below  and  con- 
trasted with  the  immaculate  white  of  the  sandy 
beach  that  glistened  in  the  morning  sun.  Romance 
seemed  to  breathe  from  the  very  atmosphere  of  the 
place. 

We  found  that  the  others  on  the  yacht  were  astir, 
too,  and,  dressing  hastily,  we  went  out  on  deck. 
Across  the  dancing  waves,  which  seemed  to  throw  a 
mocking  challenge  to  the  treasure-seekers  to  find 
what  they  covered,  we  could  see  the  trawler.  Already 
a  small  power-boat  had  put  out  from  her  and  was 

plowing  along  toward  us. 

321 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

It  was  as  the  boat  came  alongside  us  that  we  met 
Gage  for  the  first  time.  He  was  a  tall,  clean-cut 
fellow,  but  even  at  a  glance  I  recognized  that  his 
was  an  unusual  type.  I  fancied  that  both  proctors 
and  professors  had  worried  over  him  when  he  was  in 
college. 

Particularly  I  tried  to  discover  how  he  acted  when 
he  met  Norma.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  he  was  very 
eager  to  greet  her,  but  I  fancied  that  there  was  some 
restraint  on  her  part.  Perhaps  she  felt  that  we  were 
watching  and  was  on  her  guard. 

Dominick  greeted  Everson  warmly.  He  was  a 
man  of  about  thirty-five  and  impressed  one  as  having 
seen  a  great  deal  of  the  world.  His  position  as 
purser  had  brought  him  into  intimate  contact  with 
many  people,  and  he  seemed  to  have  absorbed  much 
from  them.  I  could  imagine  that,  like  many  people 
who  had  knocked  about  a  great  deal,  he  might  prove 
a  very  fascinating  person  to  know. 

Kinsale,  on  the  other  hand,  was  a  rather  silent 
fellow  and  therefore  baffling.  In  his  own  profession 
of  deep-sea  diving  he  was  an  expert,  but  beyond  that 
I  do  not  think  he  had  much  except  an  ambition  to 
get  ahead,  which  might  be  praiseworthy  or  not, 
according  as  he  pursued  it. 

I  fancied  that  next  to  Everson  himself,  Norma 
placed  more  confidence  in  Dominick  than  in  any  of 
the  others,  which  seemed  to  be  quite  natural,  though 
it  noticeably  piqued  Gage.  On  the  part  of  all  three, 
Gage,  Dominick,  and  Kinsale,  it  was  apparent  that 
they  were  overjoyed  at  the  return  of  Norma,  which 
also  was  quite  natural,  for  even  a  treasure-hunt 
has  hours  of  tedium  and  there  could  be  nothing 

322 


THE    SUNKEN   TREASURE 

tedious  when  she  was  about.  Asta  was  undoubtedly 
the  more  fascinating,  but  she  was  wrapped  up  in 
Everson.  It  was  not  long  before  Kennedy  and  I 
also  fell  under  the  spell  of  Norma's  presence  and 
personality. 

We  hurried  through  breakfast  and  lost  no  time  in 
accepting  Everson's  invitation  to  join  him,  with  the 
rest,  in  the  little  power-boat  on  a  visit  to  the  trawler. 

It  was  Dominick  who  took  upon  himself  the  task 
of  explaining  to  us  the  mysteries  of  treasure-hunting 
as  we  saw  them.  "You  see,"  he  remarked,  pointing 
out  to  us  what  looked  almost  like  a  strangely  de- 
veloped suit  of  armor,  "we  have  the  most  recent 
deep-sea  diving-outfit  which  will  enable  us  to  go 
from  two  hundred  to  three  hundred  feet  down — 
farther,  and  establish  a  record  if  we  had  to  do  it. 
It  won't  be  necessary,  though.  The  Antilles  lies  in 
about  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  of  water,  we  have 
found.  This  armor  has  to  be  strong,  for,  with  the 
air  pressure  inside,  it  must  resist  a  pressure  of  nearly 
half  a  pound  per  square  inch  for  each  foot  we  go — 
to  be  exact,  something  like  a  hundred  and  five 
pounds  per  square  inch  at  the  depth  of  the  wreck. 
Perhaps  if  Traynor  had  been  diving  we  might  have 
thought  that  that  was  the  trouble." 

It  was  the  first  reference  since  we  arrived  to  the 
tragedy.  "He  had  only  had  the  suit  on  once,"  went 
on  Dominick,  confirming  Everson,  "and  that  was 
merely  to  test  the  pumps  and  valves  and  joints. 
Even  Kinsale,  here,  hasn't  been  down.  Still,  we 
haven't  been  idle.  I  have  something  to  report. 
With  our  instruments  we  have  discovered  that  the 
ship  has  heeled  over  and  that  it  will  be  a  bit  harder 

323 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

job  to  get  into  my  office  and  get  out  the  safe  than 
we  hoped — but  feasible." 

Kennedy  showed  more  interest  in  the  diving 
apparatus  than  he  had  shown  in  anything  else  so  far. 
The  trawler  was  outfitted  most  completely  as  a 
tender,  having  been  anchored  over  the  exact  spot  at 
which  the  descents  were  to  be  made,  held  by  four 
strong  cables,  with  everything  in  readiness  for  action. 

I  saw  him  cast  a  quick  glance  at  the  others.  For 
the  moment  Dominick,  Gage,  and  Kinsale  seemed 
to  have  forgotten  us  in  their  interest  explaining  to 
Norma  what  had  been  accomplished  in  her  absence. 
He  seized  the  occasion  to  make  an  even  closer  ex- 
amination of  the  complicated  apparatus.  So  care- 
fully had  accident  been  guarded  against  that  even  a 
device  for  the  purification  of  the  air  had  been  in- 
stalled in  the  machine  which  forced  the  fresh  air 
down  to  the  diver,  compressed. 

It  was  this  apparatus  which  I  saw  Kennedy 
studying  most,  especially  one  part  where  the  air  was 
passed  through  a  small  chamber  containing  a  chem- 
ical for  the  removal  of  carbon  dioxide.  As  he  looked 
up,  I  saw  a  peculiar  expression  on  his  face.  Quickly 
he  removed  the  chemical,  leaving  the  tube  through 
which  the  air  passed  empty. 

"I  think  the  air  will  be  pure  enough  without  any 
such  treatment,"  he  remarked,  glancing  about  to  be 
sure  no  one  had  observed. 

"How  is  that?"  I  inquired,  eagerly. 

"Well,  you  know  air  is  a  mechanical  mixture  of 
gases,  mainly  oxygen  and  nitrogen.  Here's  some- 
thing that  gives  it  an  excess  of  nitrogen  and  a  smaller 
percentage  of  oxygen.  Nitrogen  is  the  more  dan- 

324 


THE    SUNKEN   TREASURE 

gerous  gas  for  one  under  compressed  air.  It  is  the 
more  inert  nitrogen  that  refuses  to  get  out  of  the 
blood  after  one  has  been  under  pressure,  that  forms 
the  bubbles  of  gas  which  cause  all  the  trouble,  the 
'bends,'  compressed-air  sickness,  you  know." 

"Then  that  is  how  Traynor  died?"  I  whispered, 
coming  hastily  to  the  conclusion.  "Some  one 
placed  the  wrong  salt  in  there — took  out  oxygen, 
added  nitrogen,  instead  of  removing  carbon  diox- 
ide?" 

Norma  had  turned  toward  us.  It  was  too  early 
for  Kennedy  to  accuse  anybody,  whatever  might  be 
his  suspicions.  He  could  not  yet  come  from  under 
cover.  "I  think  so,"  was  all  he  replied. 

A  moment  later  the  group  joined  us.  "No  one 
has  been  down  on  the  wreck  yet?"  inquired  Craig, 
at  which  Everson  turned  quickly  to  the  three  com- 
panions he  had  left  in  charge,  himself  anxious  to 
know. 

"No,"  replied  Kinsale  before  any  one  else  could 
answer.  "Mr.  Dominick  thought  we'd  better  wait 
until  you  came  back." 

"Then  I  should  like  to  be  the  first,"  cut  in  Craig, 
to  my  utter  surprise.  Remonstrance  had  no  effect 
with  him.  Neither  Norma  nor  Asta  could  dissuade 
him.  As  for  the  rest  of  us,  our  objections  seemed 
rather  to  confirm  him  in  his  purpose. 

Accordingly,  in  spite  of  the  danger,  which  now  no 
one  no  more  than  he  knew,  all  the  preparations  were 
made  for  the  first  dive.  With  the  aid  of  Kinsale, 
whom  I  watched  closely,  though  no  more  so  than 
Craig,  he  donned  the  heavy  suit  of  rubberized  re- 
inforced canvas,  had  the  leads  placed  on  his  feet  and 
22  325 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

finally  was  fitted  with  the  metal  head  and  the  "bib" 
— the  whole  weighing  hardly  short  of  three  hundred 
pounds.  It  was  with  serious  misgiving  that  I  saw 
him  go  over  the  side  of  the  trawler  and  shoot  down 
into  the  water  with  its  dark  mystery  and  tragedy. 

The  moments  that  he  was  down  seemed  intermin- 
able. Suspiciously  I  watched  every  move  that  the 
men  made,  fearful  that  they  might  do  something. 
I  longed  for  the  technical  knowledge  that  would 
have  enabled  me  to  handle  the  apparatus.  I  tried 
to  quiet  my  fears  by  reasoning  that  Craig  must  have 
had  perfect  confidence  in  the  value  of  his  discovery 
if  he  were  willing  to  risk  his  life  on  it,  yet  I  felt  that 
at  least  a  show  of  vigilance  on  my  part  might  bluff 
any  one  off  from  an  attempt  to  tamper  again  with 
the  air-supply.  I  stuck  about  closely. 

Yet,  when  there  came  a  hasty  signal  on  the  indi- 
cator from  below,  although  I  felt  that  he  had  been 
down  for  ages,  I  knew  that  it  had  been  only  a  very 
short  time.  Could  it  be  a  signal  of  trouble?  Had 
some  one  again  tampered  with  the  apparatus? 

Would  they  never  bring  him  up?  It  seemed  as 
if  they  were  working  fearfully  slow.  I  remembered 
how  quickly  he  had  shot  down.  What  had  seemed 
then  only  a  matter  of  seconds  and  minutes  now 
seemed  hours.  It  was  only  by  sheer  will  power  that 
I  restrained  myself  as  I  realized  that  going  under 
the  air  pressure  might  be  done  safely  quite  fast,  that 
he  must  come  out  slowly,  by  stages,  that  over  the 
telephone  that  connected  with  his  helmet  he  was 
directing  the  decompression  in  accordance  with  the 
latest  knowledge  that  medical  science  had  derived 
of  how  to  avoid  the  dread  caisson  disease. 

326 


THE    SUNKEN   TREASURE 

I  don't  know  when  I  have  felt  more  relief  than  I 
did  at  seeing  his  weird  headgear  appear  at  the  sur- 
face. The  danger  from  the  "bends"  might  not  be 
entirely  over  yet,  but  at  least  it  was  Craig  himself, 
safe,  at  last. 

As  he  came  over  the  side  of  the  trawler  I  ran  to 
him.  It  was  like  trying  to  greet  a  giant  in  that  out- 
landish suit  which  was  so  clumsy  out  of  the  water. 
Craig's  back  was  turned  to  the  others,  and  when  I 
realized  the  reason  I  stood  aghast.  He  had  brought 
up  a  skull  and  had  handed  the  gruesome  thing  to 
me  with  a  motion  of  secrecy.  Meanwhile  he  has- 
tened to  get  out  of  the  cumbersome  suit,  and,  to  my 
delight,  showed  no  evidence  yet  of  any  bad  effects. 

That  he  should  have  made  the  descent  and  re- 
turned so  successfully  I  felt  must  be  a  surprise  to 
some  one.  Who  was  it?  I  could  not  help  thinking 
of  Kinsale  again.  Was  he  working  for  two  masters? 
Was  he  still  employed  by  the  insurance  company? 
Was  this  a  scheme  to  capture  all  the  rich  salvage  of 
the  ship  instead  of  that  percentage  to  which  Everson 
had  secured  an  agreement  with  the  underwriters? 

Kennedy  lost  no  time  in  getting  back  to  the  Belle 
Aventure  with  the  skull  which  I  had  concealed  for 
him.  It  was  a  strange  burden  and  I  was  not  loath 
to  resign  it  to  him.  None  of  the  others,  apparently, 
knew  that  he  had  brought  up  anything  with  him, 
and  to  all  questions  he  replied  as  though  he  had 
merely  been  testing  out  the  apparatus  and,  except 
in  a  most  cursory  way,  had  not  made  an  examination 
of  the  ship,  although  what  he  had  observed  confirmed 
the  investigations  they  had  already  made  from  the 
surface. 

327 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

In  our  cabin,  Kennedy  set  to  work  immediately 
after  opening  his  traveling  laboratory  and  taking 
from  it  a  small  kit  of  tools  and  some  materials  that 
looked  almost  like  those  for  an  actor's  make-up. 

I  saw  that  he  wished  to  be  left  alone  and  retired 
as  gracefully  as  I  could,  determined  to  employ  the 
time  in  watching  the  others.  I  found  Norma  seated 
in  one  of  the  wicker  chairs  on  the  after-deck,  talking 
earnestly  with  Dominick,  and,  hesitating  whether  I 
should  interrupt  them,  I  paused  between  the  library 
and  the  sumptuously  fitted  main  saloon.  I  was  glad 
that  I  did,  for  just  that  moment  of  hesitation  was 
enough  for  me  to  surprise  a  man  peering  out  at  them 
through  the  curtains  of  a  window,  with  every  evi- 
dence of  intense  dislike  of  the  situation.  Looking 
closer,  I  saw  that  it  was  Gage.  Had  I  expected  any- 
thing of  the  sort  I  should  have  gone  even  more 
cautiously.  As  it  was,  though  I  surprised  him,  he 
heard  me  in  time  to  conceal  his  real  intentions  by 
some  trivial  action. 

It  seemed  as  if  our  arrival  had  been  succeeded  by 
a  growth  of  suspicion  among  the  members  of  the 
little  party.  Each,  as  far  as  I  could  make  out,  was 
now  on  guard,  and,  remembering  that  Kennedy  had 
often  said  that  that  was  a  most  fruitful  time,  since 
it  was  just  under  such  circumstances  that  even  the 
cleverest  could  not  help  incriminating  himself,  I 
hastened  back  to  let  Craig  know  how  matters  were. 
He  was  at  work  now  on  a  most  grotesque  labor,  and, 
as  he  placed  on  it  the  finishing  touches,  he  talked 
abstractedly. 

"What  I  am  using,  Walter,"  he  explained,  "might 
be  called  a  new  art.  Lately  science  has  perfected 

328 


THE    SUNKEN   TREASURE 

the  difficult  process  of  reconstructing  the  faces  of 
human  beings  of  whom  only  the  skull  or  a  few  bones, 
perhaps,  are  obtainable. 

"To  the  unskilled  observer  a  fieshless  skull  pre- 
sents little  human  likeness  and  certainly  conveys  no 
notion  of  the  exact  appearance  in  life  of  the  person 
to  whom  it  belonged.  But  by  an  ingenious  system  of 
building  up  muscles  and  skin  upon  the  bones  of  the 
skull  this  appearance  can  be  reproduced  with  scien- 
tific accuracy. 

"The  method,  I  might  say,  has  been  worked  out 
independently  by  Professor  von  Froriep,  in  Ger- 
many, and  by  Dr.  Henri  Martin,  in  France.  Its 
essential  principle  consists  in  ascertaining  from 
the  examination  of  many  corpses  the  normal  thick- 
ness of  flesh  that  overlies  a  certain  bone  in  a 
certain  type  of  face.  From  these  calculations  the 
scientists  by  elaborate  processes  build  up  a  face  on 
the  skull."" 

I  watched  him  with  an  uncontrollable  fascination. 
"For  instance,"  he  went  on,  "a  certain  type  of  bone 
always  has  nearly  the  same  thickness  of  muscle  over 
it.  A  very  fine  needle  with  graduations  of  hundredths 
of  an  inch  is  used  in  these  measurements.  As  I  have 
done  here,  a  great  number  of  tiny  plaster  pyramids 
varying  in  height  according  to  the  measurements 
obtained  by  these  researches  are  built  up  over  the 
skull,  representing  the  thickness  of  the  muscles.  The 
next  step  will  be  to  connect  them  together  by  a  layer 
of  clay  the  surface  of  which  is  flush  with  the  tips  of 
the  pyramids.  Then  wax  and  grease  paint  and  a 
little  hair  will  complete  it.  You  see,  it  is  really 
scientific  restoration  of  the  face.  I  must  finish  it. 

329 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

Meanwhile,  I  wish  you  would  watch  Norma.  I'll 
join  you  in  a  short  time." 

Norma  was  not  on  deck  when  I  returned,  nor  did 
I  see  any  one  else  for  some  time.  I  walked  forward, 
and  paused  at  the  door  to  the  little  wireless-room  on 
the  yacht,  intending  to  ask  the  operator  if  he  had 
seen  her. 

"Where's  Mr.  Kennedy?"  he  inquired,  .before  I 
had  a  chance  to  put  my  own  question.  "Some  one 
has  been  in  this  wireless-room  this  morning  and 
must  have  been  sending  messages.  Things  aren't 
as  I  left  them.  I  think  he  ought  to  know." 

Just  then  Everson  himself  came  up  from  below, 
his  face  almost  as  white  as  the  paint  on  the  sides  of 
his  yacht.  Without  a  word,  he  drew  me  aside,  look- 
ing about  fearfully  as  though  he  were  afraid  of  being 
overheard.  "I've  just  discovered  half  a  dozen 
sticks  of  dynamite  in  the  hold,"  he  whispered, 
hoarsely,  staring  wide-eyed  at  me.  "There  was  a 
timing  device,  set  for  to-night.  I've  severed  it. 
Where's  Kennedy?" 

"Your  wireless  has  been  tampered  with,  too," 
I  blurted  out,  telling  what  I  had  just  learned. 

We  looked  at  each  other  blankly.  Clearly  some 
one  had  plotted  to  blow  up  the  yacht  and  all  of  us  on 
board.  Without  another  word,  I  took  his  arm  and 
we  walked  toward  our  state-room,  where  Kennedy 
was  at  work.  As  we  entered  the  narrow  passage  to 
it  I  heard  low  voices.  Some  one  was  there  before 
us.  Kennedy  had  shut  the  door  and  was  talking  in 
the  hall.  As  we  turned  the  corner  I  saw  that  it  was 
Norma,  whom  I  had  forgotten  in  the  surprise  of 
the  two  discoveries  that  had  been  so  suddenly  made. 

330 


THE    SUNKEN   TREASURE 

As  we  approached  she  glanced  significantly  at 
Kennedy  as  if  appealing  to  him  to  tell  something. 
Before  he  could  speak,  Everson  himself  interrupted, 
telling  of  his  discovery  of  the  dynamite  and  of  what 
the  wireless  operator  had  found. 

There  was  a  low  exclamation  from  Norma.  "It's 
a  plot  to  kidnap  me!"  she  cried,  in  a  smothered  voice. 
"Professor  Kennedy — I  told  you  I  thought  so!" 

Everson  and  I  could  only  look  our  inquiries  at  the 
startling  new  turn  of  events. 

"Miss  Sanford  has  just  been  to  her  state-room," 
hastily  explained  Craig.  "There  she  found  that 
some  one  had  carefully  packed  up  a  number  of  her 
things  and  hidden  them,  as  if  waiting  a  chance  to 
get  them  off  safely.  I  think  her  intuition  is  correct. 
There  would  be  no  motive  for  robbery — here." 

Vainly  I  tried  to  reason  it  out.  As  I  thought,  I 
recalled  that  Gage  had  seemed  insanely  jealous  of 
both  Dominick  and  Kinsale,  whenever  he  saw  either 
with  Norma.  Did  Gage  know  more  about  these 
mysterious  happenings  than  appeared?  Why  had 
he  so  persistently  sought  her?  Had  Norma  in- 
stinctively fled  from  his  attentions? 

"Where  are  the  others?"  asked  Craig,  quickly.  I 
turned  to  Everson.  I  had  not  yet  had  time  to  find 
out. 

"Gone  back  to  the  trawler,"  he  replied. 

"Signal  them  to  come  aboard  here  directly," 
ordered  Craig. 

It  seemed  an  interminable  time  as  the  message 
was  broken  out  in  flags  to  the  trawler,  which  was  not 
equipped  with  the  wireless.  Even  the  hasty  expla- 
nation which  Kennedy  had  to  give  to  Asta  Everson, 

33* 


THE    TREASURE-TRAIN 

as  she  came  out  of  her  cabin,  wondering  where  Orrin 
had  gone,  served  only  to  increase  the  suspense.  It 
was  as  though  we  were  living  over  a  powder-maga- 
zine that  threatened  to  explode  at  any  moment. 
What  did  the  treachery  of  one  member  of  the  expedi- 
tion mean?  Above  all,  who  was  it? 

We  had  been  so  intent  watching  from  the  deck  the 
all  too  slow  approach  of  the  little  power-boat  from 
the  trawler  that  we  had  paid  no  attention  to  what 
was  on  our  other  quarter. 

"A  tug  approaching,  sir,"  reported  the  man  on 
watch  to  E verson.  ' '  Seems  to  be  heading  for  us,  sir. ' ' 

We  turned  to  look.  Who  was  she,  friend  or  foe? 
We  knew  not  what  to  expect.  Everson,  pale  but 
with  a  firm  grip  on  his  nerves,  did  not  move  from 
the  deck  as  the  power-boat  came  alongside,  and 
Dominick,  Gage,  and  Kinsale  swung  themselves  up 
the  ladder  to  us. 

"It's  the  tug  of  that  pilot,  Guiteras,  sir,"  inter- 
posed the  man  who  had  spoken  before.  Not  a  word 
was  spoken,  though  I  fancied  that  a  quiet  smile 
flitted  over  Kennedy's  face  as  we  waited. 

The  tug  ranged  up  alongside  us.  To  my  utter 
astonishment,  I  saw  Dolores,  her  black  eyes  eagerly 
scanning  our  faces.  Was  she  looking  for  Gage,  I 
wondered?  It  was  only  a  moment  when  the  party 
that  had  put  out  from  the  tug  also  came  tumbling 
aboard. 

"I  got  your  message,  Kennedy,  and  brought 
Guiteras.  He  wouldn't  join  the  expedition,  but 
he  thought  more  of  his  daughter  than  of  anything 
else." 

It  was  Kenmore,  who  had  at  last  achieved  his 
332 


THE    SUNKEN   TREASURE 

wish  to  get  on  the  treasure-hunt  story.  Everson 
looked  inquiringly  at  Craig. 

"Message?"  repeated  Kennedy.  "I  sent  no  mes- 
sage." 

It  was  Kenmore's  turn  to  stare.  Had  some  one 
hoaxed  him  into  a  wild-goose  chase,  after  all? 

"Nothing?    About  Dolores  being  deserted,  and — " 

"He  shall  marry  my  daughter!"  boomed  a  gruff 
voice  as  Guiteras  shouldered  his  way  through  the 
little  group,  his  hand  shooting  back  to  a  pocket 
where  bulged  a  huge  Colt. 

Like  a  flash  Kennedy,  who  had  been  watching, 
caught  his  wrist.  "Just  a  second,  Captain,"  he 
shouted,  then  turned  to  us,  speaking  rapidly  and 
excitedly.  "This  thing  has  all  been  carefully,  dia- 
bolically laid  out.  All  who  stood  in  the  way  of  the 
whole  of  the  treasure  were  to  be  eliminated.  One 
person  has  sought  to  get  it  all — at  any  cost." 

In  Craig's  own  hand  now  gleamed  a  deadly  auto- 
matic while  with  the  other  he  held  Guiteras's  wrist. 

"But,"  he  added,  tensely,  "an  insane  passion  has 
wrecked  the  desperate  scheme.  A  woman  has  been 
playing  a  part — leading  the  man  on  to  his  own  de- 
struction in  order  to  save  the  man  she  really  loves." 

I  looked  over  at  Norma.  She  was  pale  and  agitat- 
ed, then  burning  and  nervous  by  turns.  It  was  only 
by  a  most  heroic  effort  that  she  seemed  able  to 
restrain  herself,  her  eyes  riveted  on  Kennedy's  face, 
weighing  every  word  to  see  whether  it  balanced  with 
a  feeling  in  her  own  heart. 

"The  Antilles,"  shot  out  Kennedy,  suddenly, 
"was  burned  and  sunk,  not  by  accident,  but  with  a 
purpose.  That  purpose  has  run  through  all  the 

333 


THE   TREASURE-TRAIN 

events  I  have  seen — the  use  of  Mr.  Everson,  his 
yacht,  his  money,  his  influence.  Come!"  He  strode 
down  the  passage  to  our  state-room,  and  we  followed 
in  awed  silence. 

"It  is  a  vast,  dastardly  crime — to  get  the  Mexican 
millions,"  he  went  on,  pausing,  his  hand  on  the  knob 
of  the  door  while  we  crowded  the  narrow  passage. 
"I  have  brought  up  from  the  wreck  a  skull  which  I 
found  near  a  safe,  unlocked  so  that  entrance  would 
be  easy.  The  skull  shows  plainly  that  the  man  had 
been  hit  on  the  head  by  some  blunt  instrument, 
crushing  him.  Had  he  discovered  something  that  it 
was  inconvenient  to  know?  You  have  heard  the 
stories  of  the  ill-fated  ship — " 

Craig  flung  open  the  door  suddenly.  We  saw  a 
weird  face — the  head  apparently  streaming  blood 
from  a  ghastly  wound.  There  was  a  shrill  cry  beside 
me. 

"It's  his  ghost — Captain  Driggs!  God  save  me — 
it's  his  ghost  come  to  haunt  me  and  claim  the 
treasure!" 

I  turned  quickly.    Dominick  had  broken  down. 

"You  were — just  leading  him  on — tell  me — 
Norma."  I  turned  again  quickly.  It  was  Gage, 
who  had  taken  Norma's  hand,  quivering  with  ex- 
citement. 

"You  never  cared  for  her?"  she  asked,  with  the 
anxiety  that  showed  how  in  her  heart  she  loved  him. 

"Never.  It  was  part  of  the  plot.  I  sent  the 
message  to  get  her  here  to  show  you.  I  didn't  know 
you  were  playing  a  game — 

Suddenly  the  sharp  crack  of  a  pistol  almost  deaf- 
ened us  in  the  close  passageway.  As  the  smoke 

334 


THE    SUNKEN   TREASURE 

cleared,  I  saw  Dolores,  her  eyes  blazing  with  hatred, 
jealousy,  revenge.  In  her  hand  was  the  pistol  she 
had  wrenched  from  her  father. 

On  the  floor  across  the  door-sill  sprawled  a  figure. 
Dominick  had  paid  the  price  of  his  faithlessness  to 
her  also. 


THE    END 


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